


A Day is Long and I will be Waiting for You

by TheArmageddongirl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But only a little, Byron Knight, Check! Please, Friends to Lovers, I'm in a NurseyDex groupchat and this idea flew at me, Jazz singer Nursey, M/M, Minor Internalized Homophobia, MoonshinerDex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prohibition AU, Slow Burn, So much angst, SoldierNursey, SoliderDex, Trying to focus on the other history and the ROMANCE, Use of Shitty's first name, WWI AU, WWI fic, WWI-prohibition fic, Zimbits if you blink, background zimbits, dexnursey - Freeform, historical fiction - Freeform, listen, nurseydex - Freeform, period-typical violence, slow friends to lovers, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23454967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArmageddongirl/pseuds/TheArmageddongirl
Summary: During the initial rush of young volunteers to fight in the Great War, William Poindexter is busy tending to ships and his family with steady hands and a quiet courage. Once it’s clear that it won’t be over quickly, however, he feels no choice but to enlist in the service of Queen and Country.In Eastern France, he meets American Derek Nurse, a singer and a poet who teaches him how to laugh and be free in a way Will hadn’t known he was even missing. Their connection is grounding in the uncertainty and dangers of the War they’ve both promised to return home from. But as is the way of War, their connection is unexpectedly shattered beyond repair.Unless, by some miracle, an act of fate or God or perhaps just the force of a bond that can’t be broken, they can find their way to each other again in the midst of a new age of uncertainty and danger - the Prohibition
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse & William "Dex" Poindexter, Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Tony "Tango" Tangredi/Original Female Character
Comments: 51
Kudos: 56





	1. To the West, To the North

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Pablo Neruda poem "Don't Go Far Off". No warnings for this chapter, and moving forward I'll do my best to tag anything that could be triggering, but if I miss something, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

Will Poindexter didn’t know much about the world beyond his home in West Advocate, Nova Scotia. He knew his way around a boat, how to build one, how to steer it, and how to fix it. He knew how to fish and repair nets, and he knew how to tie a damn fine knot. More than anything though, he knew that he was odd.

He had always been odd. While his friends had been off chasing the neighbor girl, Will had been inside, helping his mama around the house, fixing things and watching his baby sister. When his friends started courting girls, Will was elbows deep in oil and grease, working on boats, keeping his mind focused on one thing, and one thing only: keeping his head down. It’s not that Will didn’t want to start a family, it’s not that he didn’t want to court someone, it had more to do with who he wanted to court. He knew, deep in his bones, that it was wrong, that it would get him in trouble, so instead, he kept his head down and he focused on the work at hand.

  
Every night, after a long day at the factory, Will made his way to his parents home, just a quarter mile away from his home, to help with dinner. After years on a lobster boat, his father didn’t move as well as he used to, and with 3 children still at home, his parents needed the help, and Will was happy to provide it. He made sure to take off his work boots and scrub off excess filth outside, grabbing a clean change of clothes from the drying line and changing inside before he checked in with his parents. Sarah, the oldest of the 3 at home, was helping their mama in the kitchen, so Will helped wrangle the other two and got them cleaned up for supper.

  
After supper every evening, Will stayed for a drink with his father, and to listen to the evening programs on the radio, before he’d make the short trek home, and pass out. Tonight wasn’t different than any other night. His parents were seated together on the small sofa in the living room, his sisters sprawled out on the floor playing with dolls or reading, and Will rested in one of the dining chairs, glass in hand, sipping whiskey, listening to the radio drone on. He wasn’t paying any particular attention until the program was cut short by a distress signal, and a sharp, clear voice.

  
War. There was going to be a war in Europe. It was hard to think of something so far off, so abstract, as anything that could affect him, but the bone chilling dread that sank in at those words rattled him to his core. His mama hugged his youngest sister close, and his father looked at him, the stern set of his mouth wavering for the first time in Will’s 20 years. An Archduke had been assassinated, and war was coming.  
As the months dragged on, they listened, waited, with held breath, about news of the war moving further, pushing passed the borders of Austria-Hungary, away from Eastern Europe. And then Germany announced their involvement, France soon followed, and when England finally entered the war, Will looked at his father and saw that same look on his face as he had when they had first heard the news: fear. Fear for his son, fear for his family. Because war had come to Europe, and England had entered the fray.

  
That night, his father took him out to the back porch and sighed, rubbing his face. “They’re going to encourage every able bodied young man to fight, you know that, right William?” Will glanced at his father, nodding. “Yeah, I know.” What else did you say when you knew you were headed to war? What else could you say?

  
“This is going to break your mother’s heart. Saying goodbye to you.” Will glanced at his father, brow drawn tight. “Let’s just not talk about it until we have to. Please. I’ll stay to help find a deckhand for the boat, but as soon as that’s done, I need to go. I need to enlist.” He rubbed his neck, jaw tight, and when he spoke next, his voice was soft, wavering slightly. “I’ll come back, Pa. I promise. I’ll come home.”

  
He hunkered down with his family, building boats when the government told him to and the way they told him to. That held out for 2 years. He was doing work to support the war effort, from home, and his family needed him. It wasn’t long before the country needed him more.

  
He enlisted in the summer of 1916, and Will swore he could still hear his mother’s sobbing and his sisters’ screams for him not to go, days after he had actually left.

Derek Malik Nurse was descended from slaves. His grandparents and father had been born into slavery, and his mother had been born just after the war ended. Yet he lived a strangely privileged life in New York City, not easy, by any means. His parents both worked 2 jobs each, and Derek had been doing some kind of work for as long as he could remember. But he got to go to school, he got to play on the streets, he knew how to read and write, and took great pride in reading poems and stories to his grandparents every night as they settled down for bed. His family had fought hard to have any sort of comfort in their lives, and they were glad that their son, their Derek, didn’t struggle the way they had. His struggles were different.

  
Derek was odd. Not noticeably, not really. But he knew that the things he felt were odd. When he looked at his parents, he saw a man and a woman who loved each other more than life itself, and any child who saw what he did growing up, would imagine that for themselves. Except when Derek imagined it? There wasn’t a woman by his side.

  
The first time he voiced that thought was to his mother, and she gripped him so hard by the shoulders that bruises were dark and painful, and stayed for days. She warned him to keep those thoughts to himself. “You’re already black. You don’t need to draw anymore attention to yourself, you hear me, Derek?” It was also the last time he ever said it aloud. But the thoughts were there, the lingering eyes, and too long touches that he sometimes managed with the right person. It was dangerous, and terrifying, but to be happy, to be like his parents, the risk felt worth it.

  
When Derek wasn’t working, he was at school, studying, doing his best to learn all he could. He wrote poetry and short stories and sang songs around the neighborhood, his voice soft and smokey. There was a time he wanted to be a singer, but he knew he had to make his family proud. He was the first person in his family to get an education passed the third grade, and the day he graduated high school, his parents were beaming.

  
When he was accepted into the Baltimore Normal School, where he was going to study to become a teacher, they were bursting with pride.

  
Two years later, all hell broke loose.

  
War broke out, it raged, and Derek saw more of his friends travel north, but he was invested in school, his family was watching him, so he had to finish, assuring himself, and his family, that this would end soon, it had to. But it didn’t. So he did what anyone else in his position would do.

  
His mother was silent when she wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck and hugged him, and his father looked at him, concerned, but so so proud.  
“Don’t let it change you, son. When this is all over, we’ll need you. We’ll need our teacher and our poet and our singer back with us, making things feel normal, you understand?” Derek nodded, smiling a little, even as his hands shook.

  
“I understand Papa. When I get back, I’ll sing all the new songs I’ve learned, alright? Or maybe I’ll write the next great novel when I’m away.” He tried to joke, tried to be relaxed, to ease his parents' worries, even though his own gut was twisted with fear, but he had to do this. He couldn’t explain the drive, but it was there, pushing him forward, pushing him North.

Will wasn’t the only one from a small fishing village, and he wasn’t even the only one who worked on a shipyard, but he was the most capable of the bunch. It had nothing to do with his ego, Will just kept his head down and worked hard, it was what he knew best, and it paid off. By the time they were shipping off to England, Will had earned respect of his comrades, and he felt oddly settled. He wasn’t worried about acting right, about being right, he was able to focus on his work and on keeping the man next to him alive, and nothing else.

  
It made it easier to keep his eyes from roaming, lingering. Made it easier for him to forget about that part of himself.

  
He did his best to keep his head down, point his gun, shoot, dig trenches, keep himself alive. He wrote letters to his family, and he stayed alive. That was his whole focus as the war went on. Stay alive. He wanted to keep his friends safe, alive, but not if it meant his own life. He had made a promise to his Pa, and he planned to keep it.

Derek knew it wouldn’t be easy when he went to Canada to enlist. He knew that he would face similar prejudice there that he did at home, but he had to do this. He could feel it in his very bones. He was assigned to the No. 2 Construction Batllion, a non-combat unit that aided in the building of the trenches. Is it what he imagined he’d be doing? No. Of course not, but it eased his family’s minds and it eased his own. He wouldn’t have to kill anyone.

  
He finally saw war in 1917, and when he wrote to his mother, he did his best to leave out the details, but it was hard. There was so much death, everywhere. He and his battalion were building up trenches as fast as they were coming down, and the screams of allied soldiers around him were deafening.

  
Derek’s heart was too tender for war. He learned that quickly. He made friends fast and often, trading cigarettes and chocolate, playing cards with them, or swapping books or stories from back home. Despite the segregation in the military, friendships formed across race, and across language barriers. It was strange, how equalizing the trenches were, how equalizing war was in general. With all the mud and grime covering them from head to toe, they were almost indistinguishable. Almost. He had been in France for 3 months when he finally saw a mane of red hair, attached to a worried, mud soaked face.

That day in the trenches wasn’t supposed to change his life. He was supporting a private on one side, trying to get him to a medic as fast as possible, when the weight suddenly felt a bit easier to bear. He looked over and saw another soldier supporting him by the side and he nodded his thanks, dragging him to the medic and laying him down. Will sighed, sinking down against the sighed of the tent, head falling back as he rubbed his face. He glanced over at the man who had helped him, and after he took a deep swig from his canteen, he offered it to the other.

“Thanks for the help with Zimmermann. Bastard’s heavy as hell.” He then offered out his hand. “Poindexter, 4th Division. From West Advocate, Nova Scotia”

Derek looked at the offered canteen, a little startled, but accepted it, taking a quick drink before handing it back, and accepting the offered hand.

  
“Nurse, No. 2 Construction. From Brooklyn, New York.” The slight surprise on Poindexter’s face made him grin as he shook his hand firmly, enjoying the warmth from his hand. “And before you say anything, I know, I’m a long way from home.”

  
Will barked out a quick laugh and shook his head. “Not what I was going to say. We’re all a bit far from home, don’t ya think?” Derek grinned, helping Poindexter up to his feet and moving out of the medic’s tent.  
“We might be far from home, but we’re where we’re needed right? Isn’t that what they tell us? That we’re needed here?” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes. “How much longer is the 4th here for?” Will shrugged, pulling a cigarette from his tin and lighting it, sighing. “I’m here until they tell me to leave.” He glanced back at the tent, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Derek followed his eyes, brow quirking. “Friend of yours?” Will raised an eyebrow right back, shrugging. “Yeah he’s my friend. Been around the longest besides me, ya know? Fucking bullet comes out of nowhere. Says he’s got someone back home, and I really don’t wanna have to write her a letter.”

  
Derek glanced back at the tent, swallowing thickly. “That’s one of the hardest parts, isn’t it? Out here it’s kill or be killed, so of course, you do what you need to. But when it’s your friend sitting next to you…” Will just nodded, finishing his cigarette and stamping out the butt. He glanced at Nurse, feeling a heat flare in his chest as his eyes lingered just a touch too fucking long.

  
“Stay safe out there, Nurse. You need anything, you ask around for Will Poindexter, got it?” Derek offered a small, half smile. “Yeah, yeah I will. You need anything, anything at all, the guys around here know who Derek Nurse is, they’ll find me.”

With a pat to his shoulder, Will walked off, readjusting his gun, jaw tight and eyes trained forward.


	2. Of Gunfire and Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time progresses, as it tends to, and War doesn't get any damn easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe out there everyone, and as always, if you know more about this topic than I do (and listen, I studied German politics from 1803-1945, you just might) please let me know and educate me! I'm doing research as I go and trying to fix what I can, but I'm also taking some small liberties with the history. I'm trying not to.

It was easy to lose track of people in the spray of bullets and the constant rush of death, violence and attempts to stay healthy and alive, but for the life of him, Will couldn’t lose track of Derek Nurse. Wherever he turned, there he was, rebuilding a support, helping someone out of the mud, taking them to the medic. He was everywhere. Over the course of a few weeks, though, it became stranger when Derek  _ wasn’t  _ somewhere in Will’s sightlines than when he was, and it became a great comfort, to have that solid, steady presence. 

There was never a lull in a war, but there were days where things felt almost routine, and on those days, Will found himself seeking out Derek’s presence. He tried to be as subtle as he could, offering cover when Derek had to carry supplies out in the open or just finding a corner near Derek and his company, listening to Derek’s soft, smokey voice cut through the cacophony, soothing everyone in range. It was an odd comfort, that made hearts twist and ache for home, while filling them with the drive to defend that home. Will realized quickly, that these songs weren’t just from Derek’s own memory, but were learned from other soldiers. There were days he’d hear him sing for the Australians, others when he’d sing for the Irish, and it was wonderful, but the day he sang Oh Canada, the triumph in his voice, the joy, the pride, Will had to turn away to hide his tears.

Will Poindexter was everywhere Derek looked. When he was trying to keep trenches from falling in, there was Will, gun in hand, barking orders at the greenies, the newest soldiers on the lines. When he was making a supply run, there was Will, in the corner of his eye, offering cigarettes to the scared kid who couldn’t shoot straight. He was there at night, making sure socks were changed and blankets were dry, and Derek swore up and down, that this man would leave the war alive, and an officer. 

War didn’t teach anyone the kind of compassion Derek saw from Will Poindexter, more often than not, it’s what took it away. People had to smother that part of themselves to cope with what they were being ordered to do, so to see compassion shining so brightly in their cold, damp trench, did wonders for Derek’s soul. He found himself writing more during whatever rest time he had, singing more, quietly at night, too softly to really be heard, and only a little louder during the day, when gunshots and artillery fire were the loudest. It wasn’t long until those around him heard his soft songs and asked for more, gave him their songs. First it was one, and then another, and before too long, Derek found that he had a list of songs to learn, and he was singing almost every night at supper, a small crowd huddled around him to hear him over the noise. It brought him comfort, the same way watching Will, usually so gruff and quiet, talking about his family with the other privates, a soft smile on his face, and adoration in his eyes. The same way it brought the others comfort to hear him sing, he supposed. 

Of course, seeing Will at the edges of his crowd almost every evening, always looking away, but always there, brought him the most comfort, while the warm ache in his chest, brought him the most concern, his mother’s voice always ringing in the back of his mind. Derek knew that among these men, these soldiers, he was already an oddity. A poet and an artist among men who came from factory and farm work, but his feelings, the ache in his chest when he looked at Will, put a bigger target on his back than the color of his skin. 

Derek did what he could to help the greenies, did what he could to pass along words of advice and share his knowledge, but he didn’t carry the same commanding tone that the Brass did. Or that Will did. Even without trying, Will commanded attention and respect. 

It was with a sly grin, that one night, when Derek heard the greenies talking about advice Will had given them about keeping their socks dry, that he slipped into the conversation. 

“You know what they say. Papa Will knows best.” And with a wink and a shrug, that he slipped away. 

There was a certain brightness that seemed to follow Derek Nurse around, even in the dark. He made people smile, made them hope, he made Will hope. And knowing that Derek was doing his best to distract those around him from the constant tragedy that surrounded them, made it easier to push aside his own worry and help. One man couldn’t save an entire trench from their own despair by himself, so Will ventured to help. He threw unsolicited advice at the greenies, kept their socks dry, he made sure they wrote home, wrote to their girls. He shared cigarettes and stories, told jokes, and it wasn’t long before he started hearing soft voices and a new nickname announcing his presence wherever he went. 

“Shit, Papa Poindexter’s on his way, get your shit together.” 

“Idiot! Get your gun out of the mud, you don’t want Papa angry with you!”

“Hey, Papa’s on his way over, maybe he knows how to mend it.”

He knew the nickname was supposed to be a tease, but the way they said it was so...warm, familiar. Like they were trying to hold onto something, anything normal. Even when it stopped being a whisper, and started entering normal conversations, it was easy to let it slide, easy to let the young ones, the fresh faces, find comfort in an older soldier taking them under his wing.

It was late one evening, an oddly quiet night out on the front, when Will’s familiar shade of red hair caught his eye. He turned, grinning at the soldier, giving him a lazy salute. 

“You’re looking well, Sergeant. Congratulations, by the way. It’s the talk of the trench.” While never advised to be so relaxed with a superior officer, Derek knew this officer. He had seen Will lower than even Will’s closest friends. So what did it matter that dozens of other soldiers had seen those same lows?

Will snorted softly and he rolled his eyes. “It’s not much of a promotion, but it’s something. The pay is higher, means I get to send more back to my sisters.” He shrugged, sitting down next to Derek, glancing at the open notebook in his lap before he glanced away, staring up into the sky. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”  
Derek was about to shoot back about how sweet it was that Will worried about his sisters (like he didn’t send any money he got back to his parents) when he caught Will’s soft words. He swallowed thickly and frowned. “Why you telling me?” It was a legitimate question, and though he was glad Will told him, he was still confused. 

“I know, Nurse. About the Papa thing. You got the greenies calling me that. So I just figured that I might as well tell you before I head out.” 

“I--yeah okay, but how’d you find out?” 

Will snorted, rolling his eyes. “You aren’t that subtle, man. I heard one of them ask you where something was after one of your concerts,” Will smirked at Derek, nudging him a little, “and I heard you tell him to go ask his Papa. Next thing I know, he’s headed my way.”

Derek flushed darkly, immensely glad for the dark color of his skin and the added grime of warfare, covering the flush. “Okay so it was me. But there was no lie there. You’re like a mother hen out there, Poindexter. I was just a little kind, calling you their Papa instead of their Mama.” He winked, standing as tall as he dared at 6’2, trying to twist out the knots in his back, but struggling because he had to remain slightly bent. He hated trenches. When he sat back down, he looked at Will, frowning. 

“Do you have any requests then, Sergeant Poindexter? You’re the only one around who hasn’t taught me a new song, and I’m almost offended.”

Will looked almost startled when Derek mentioned that he hadn’t taught him a song yet. “I sort of figured that your list was probably too long to add another fisherman’s song to it.” 

“Mmm, see, I don’t have any fisherman’s songs though, Will.” He paused, raising his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Sergeant.” 

Will tilted his head, frowning. “With all the other sailors here I would’ve figured…” He shrugged, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky, sighing. “Fine. You want a shanty, you’ll get a shanty.”

The grin that stretched across Derek’s face was blinding. 

That night was cold, but still, huddled together, a small group of soldiers tried to find some normalcy, and Derek Nurse learned his first real sea shanty, and that oddness that his mother worried so much about, began to worry him. 

Hearing Derek’s smokey, smooth voice sing the shanty made Will long for the shores of West Advocate and for something he wouldn’t speak of. He had always been different, he had never dreamed of a life with a wife and children. His family had always assumed that when he said that, he meant that he wanted a life of adventure, but that wasn’t quite true either. When Will envisioned his life, he loved someone and was loved back, and in his daydreams, that love was always masculine. 

He knew that it was dangerous to love like this, which was why he never once said it outloud, never once wrote it down, and for a while, he had been positive that his oddness had been suppressed. But listening to Derek sing made him ache in ways he wasn’t even aware possible, made him feel things he didn’t know he could feel, and it terrified him. Through the fear, he let himself feel, let himself fall into that abyss. It may be the last time he felt this sort of warm twist in the gut before he died anyway, so why not fall into it? 

He led the next shanty, and then let Derek lead again, the pair laughing, the group around them, huddling for warmth in the mud, trying to keep their voices down in their joy. Most of these boys, these green, young soldiers, a boat was all they knew, and they missed the closeness of their families, the closeness of their deck crew. This was as close as they’d had since they had shipped out, and Will knew that it would be the last time in a while they felt like this. 

The next morning, Will and his company packed up, and packed out, trudging through the mud and gunfire to clear the path ahead. 

Derek knew that his last night with that small company of green soldiers, led by Will was his only chance to say goodbye, but actually saying the words? Well, Derek was a poet, he was good with complex and lyrical. Not simple statements. 

He regretted not being better with simple statements. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story kind of came out of nowhere and hit me in the face to be honest? I'm in a NurseyDex GC on Tumblr and we were talking about AUs, and the idea for Jazz Singer Nursey sort of came up and hit me in the face. That morphed into...This. I majored in history in college, and did my best to research the things I was uncertain of, including places, universities, military divisions, and all that. If I missed something, or got something wrong, I apologize, and please please let me know! I'm taking liberty with the homophobia, though it's there in sprinkles because it's the early 20th century, and I'm doing my best to handle the era-typical racism, but if something isn't handled correctly, correct me so I can fix it. Thank you! Stay healthy, stay safe.  
> Thank you for reading everyone, stay safe, stay sane, and if I take unforgivable liberties with history, let me know lol Hit me up on tumblr at summerwaves-autumnskies.tumblr.com if you want


	3. Come Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all really need to be out here thanking my friend EleanorFenyx on Tumblr. They have been the biggest encouragement I ever could have asked for, and are a huge reason this is still being written.  
> Thank you for your patience. Stay safe

After months in the trenches, Will was sure that there couldn’t be anything even close to as terrible as that cold, damp feeling, but oh had he been wrong. When his company slipped well behind their own lines, and moved onto main roads, they were thrown out into the wide open. Months of close quarters fighting, of having walls and bodies surrounding them, and suddenly, they were out in the open, listening, waiting, for even the smallest sound that indicated something wasn’t right. 

They had a week behind their own lines before they set up base in  Sermaize-les-Bains. The small French village was positioned close enough to enemy lines that it had become a target for the Germans, a good launching point to take more and more allied territory. That’s why Will’s company had been sent there, to protect it and the surrounding area, to protect the people. 

The march had been long, and unnervingly uneventful. This close to German territory should have resulted in something more than just a few stray bullets. 

Will had a routine set up in the village, something he hadn’t had the luxury of since the war started. He woke up, ate breakfast, ran patrols, dealt with correspondence from other officers, and made sure his men were taken care of. It wasn’t much of a routine, to be honest, but it was more than he’d had in the trenches. Everything in this tiny village that they were protecting was more than they’d had in the trenches. They were warm, dry, and despite the constant threat of the Germans marching in, they were safe. Every single soldier there knew it too, they were safer here, out in the open, than they were in the trenches. Disease wasn’t as prevalent, mortars weren’t taking out clusters of soldiers at a time, they had room to scramble if they came under fire, and they sometimes did. The Germans made no large move on them, but it wasn’t uncommon for bullets to fly. 

The creation of a routine, the familiarity that he and his men had with some of the villagers--mostly the men and boys who fancied themselves a decent shot, who hadn’t been able to enlist either because of age or because of physical ability--made Will feel an aching twist in his gut. Guilt. He felt guilty. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that his company was in grave danger the entire time they were patrolling, even just being in the plaza made them a target, unprotected and out in the open. But they had shelter from the rain. They weren’t constantly switching out socks to avoid injury to their feet. They didn’t have to sing in hushed voices at night. Sure they couldn’t yell, but they could speak or sing at a normal volume without fear of being heard and fired upon every night, and oh Will wished that he could hear Derek’s voice singing in the small pub at night, warming the hearts and minds of his soldiers. 

He didn’t even recognize when he was cold anymore. The bone deep ache of the cold, made worse by the damp was just something he got used to after a while. It was something you had to get used to if you wanted to survive. He got used to not seeing Will around too, got used to not hearing greenies running from ‘Papa’s’ ire. And just as he got used to it, his battalion was given their marching orders. It was time to clear forests for roads, and it made sense.They were a construction unit afterall. This trench on the front would survive, but the soldiers trying to get through on unmaintained roads might not. 

They moved slowly at first, the roads closest to the trenches the worst, and the most dangerous. They were sitting ducks as they worked on roads, cleared debris and removed shells, guns and bodies. When he had first entered the war, he would’ve done anything to get out of the trenches, but this was, without a doubt in his mind, worse. But his unit was tight, they had each other’s backs, and the combat company escorting them were good men. As they worked on the roads, Derek stopped singing, it was a risk they couldn’t take, not now when they were so exposed. It felt odd, being one of the more seasoned soldiers there, but he was. Every chance he had, he was trading cigarettes for songs from their homes, knowing that many of the newer soldiers to the front lines were going through theirs too quickly, weren’t rationing them well enough. His own supply ran out just miles outside a small village. 

Villages were his favorite, he was able to restock on cigarettes, learn a local ballad, relax, even if just for a minute, and he always tried to learn a bit of the language along the way. Most of his comrades spoke some French, so they were able to help him practice when they were on the road, but the dialects were different, and Derek preferred the true French. His absolute favorite part about villages wasn’t just learning, it was being able to sing. Despite the war surrounding these people, they went about their lives as best they could, and pubs were always open, so Derek tended to find himself, sitting on a bar, singing a ballad or a shanty. For the first time since he got to the front lines, he was able to really sing, and if he slipped in his own poems, well, no one had to know. People usually mistook his work for an Irish love song, anyway. Afterall, why else would he be singing about a redheaded soldier, coming home from war?

Derek and his crew had been moving quickly, fixing roads, trying to help rebuild towns when they could, and it had been going well. Too well, to be honest. Derek knew that he wasn’t that lucky, to avoid trouble as long as he had. They had just stopped for a break, about 10 miles out of a small French village,  Sermaize-les-Bains, when the company scout came running back, face ashen. He went right to their CO, and while Derek didn’t catch all of it, he caught enough. 

“Tanks--Easily two companies headed to Sermaize-les-Bains--”

Dammit, they were headed towards Sermaize-les-Bains to restock, and to get ahead of the company stationed there. They had been told that the company stationed there was going to be moving out soon, and the better the roads were, the easier the march would be. The news they had just received meant that either the company stationed just ahead of them would be moving out sooner, rather than later, or they wouldn’t be needing the roads that the No. 2 were going to be working. 

Still, he wasn’t in a position to make any calls, so he just waited. He didn’t have to wait too long before he saw their runner take off towards the village ahead of them. He took that as his cue to stand and start getting his battalion on their feet. They had a ways to go, and not nearly enough time to rest. 

Will had just sat down, pen and paper in hand to write to his parents, when a private, only a few years younger than Will himself, came running up to him, eyes wide. “Sir! We’ve just received intel from the No.2. They sent us a runner. You need to hear this.”

There was a brief moment of elation at hearing that a member of the No. 2 was in Sermaize-les-Bains. That meant Derek was nearby, on his way to the village, even, if one of his fellows was in Will’s camp. But that all came crashing down on him when he realized that a runner meant news. Bad news. He sighed, standing and following Tangredi to the plaza, but he picked up his pace when he saw the runner. He recognized that face. “Oluransi?” 

Justin’s head shot up, and despite the grim news, he grinned, straightening his back and saluting Will quickly before he relaxed. “Papa. Just the man I wanted to see.” He rubbed his face, sighing. “It’s the Germans, Sergeant. Tanks, heavy artillery, two companies at least. Headed right for you.”  
Will swore under his breath, “How long do we have until they’re here?” The question was so simple, and yet, carried so much weight. A wrong answer, and everyone in the village would lose their lives. Justin frowned and shook his head. “Tomorrow morning at the earliest. The afternoon at the very latest.” Will swore again, tilting his head back slightly.

“Can you run anymore, Justin? How far back is your company? I want them here as soon as they can, and out at dawn to start destroying whatever roads they can.” Justin shook his head, hands shaking slightly. “I need a break, Sarge. But they should only be 7 or 8 miles behind me. They’ll be here by nightfall and you can give them the orders yourself.” 

“You’re sure they’re headed here?” Justin just nodded, before Will sent him off with Tony to get fed and rested. He made sure that every corner of the city was ready for Derek’s battalion to show up, and was antsy, right until the sky turned orange. 

Derek and his battalion marched into Sermaize-les-Bains just as the sun began to set, exhausted and hungry, so all in all, pretty normal. Justin met them on their march in and led them to an area cordoned off for them to set up camp. They made quick work of it, and started up on dinner not long after their tents had been set up. With rations in hand, his comrades started shouting out song requests and Derek laughed, eyes softening. 

His concerns were met with groans and more requests, until Derek set down his tin and sighed, going off into a soft, low ballad he had learned from a Frenchman they had met a week or so back. His French wasn’t perfect, and in fact, he stumbled over most of the words--a fact he only knew because Justin kept snorting--but the sound of his voice seemed to ease the men around him. He took a few requests before breaking off to finish his dinner, settling down against a building, stretching out, trying to relax. They were marching again in the morning, destroying roads to slow down the progress of their enemy he supposed. 

As he was surrounded by soldiers, Derek started to sing again, dropping an Australian tune, letting his voice carry more than he usually did, though still careful not to sing too loud. It wasn’t long before a small crowd of soldiers and civilians were surrounding him, listening to him sing, and he felt so at home, so at peace like this. He had gone to school to be a teacher, he supposed, being in front of people was second nature to him, but still, it was nice to feel settled during unsettling times. 

It wasn’t until he let the last few lines trail off, that he looked around and he saw a familiar streak of red crossing through the plaza. A bright grin stretched across his face and he broke into one of the first shantys Will had ever taught him. 

“I thought I heard the old man say leave her Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow ye will get yer pay and it’s time for us to leave her…”

Will was cross. He knew that Derek’s battalion was going to be setting up camp here, he knew that they were in this village, but he had been swamped with correspondence since the news had hit about the Germans and the speed of their arrival. He finally had a chance to breathe as night settled over the small, quiet village, and he began his trek to the pub, hands in his pockets, humming softly. Halfway across the plaza, his hum turned to something more familiar, a song he hadn’t sung in months, and his head jerked up. Listening closely, his eyes widened and he looked around, before his sights landed on the tall man, surrounded by soldiers, hanging onto every word he sang. He started over in that direction, clinging to Derek’s voice, the sweet smokiness, the familiarity, and all at once, his heart clenched. He wanted to say something, sooner rather than later, but he couldn’t interrupt Derek, couldn’t take this away from his men, so he took a moment to listen, before jumping in, his own voice much more rough.

“I hate to sail on this rotten tub. Leave her Johnny, leave her!”

The shock and then the joy, on Derek’s face when he saw Will and heard him join in, was a memory that Will would keep with him and hold close until his last days. 

Derek beamed when he heard a familiar, growling voice shout back at him, and though he stumbled, he managed to get a hold of the lyrics, keeping the shanty going until the end, when he could finally break away. Soldiers were clapping and laughing, and the civilians were cheering, but Derek pushed through right to Will. “Well look at you, still in one piece?”

Will chuckled but nodded before he reached out and hugged Derek tightly, but briefly. “I missed you too, Nurse.” 

Derek flushed, but hugged him back, taking a deep breath when he stepped back. “Come on, wanna show me where to get a drink around here? My voice needs the rest.”

The walk to the pub was done in silence, but Derek didn’t mind. The silence was warm and familiar, almost welcome. Besides, he was going to inundate Will with questions after he had a drink in his hand anyway, might as well let his friend enjoy the silence while he could. 

When they finally settled down, a pint each, Derek sighed, taking a quick drink before he looked Will up and down. “You look good, Sarge.” It was all he could think to say, now that they were sitting down across from each other. He honestly hadn’t expected to see Will again, while they were still in Europe, and everything he had stored away in his soft, fragile heart was fighting to break free. 

Will shrugged, taking a long drink from his glass, eyes cast down. “Yeah well. Being warm and dry will do that for a guy you know?” It had been a blessing at first, a privilege, but now, every time Will went to lay down, he couldn’t help but think about everyone he knew who was still damp and cold in the trenches. He coughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “So come on. Fill me in. How’re you? Out of the trenches yourself.” He offered a small smile, hands fidgeting, and after another moment, he added, “I’m sorry we aren’t having drinks under better conditions, Derek.” 

Derek’s eyes softened and he focused on his drink for a moment before responding. “Yeah, Will, me too. I wish we could be doing this in New York but it doesn’t seem like that’s in the cards for us right now? I’m just glad to see you alive. I wasn’t…” he trailed off, biting his lip,”I really wasn’t expecting it to be you when I started singing. I just knew that if it was you, that particular song would get your attention. And it worked.” He laughed a little, taking another quick drink and leaning back. “We’re headed out early in the morning, trying to get a head start. You know we should be getting civilians out right now, right?” 

Will suddenly hated how in smart Derek was, how he seemed to have his finger directly on the pulse of the situation. “We made the announcement before you got here. There are a few families already out of town, and others leaving tomorrow morning before the sun rises, when you guys leave.”

Derek nodded as he listened, brow furrowed. “Alright. Okay. And those who don’t leave? What about them?”

Will tilted his head back, sighing softly. “The ones staying behind are mostly middle aged or old men without families. Men who have lived here, and plan to die here. They’re sticking around to fight for their home.” His voice was soft and he shook his head. “Tomorrow’s going to be ugly.” 

Derek frowned, his heart seizing in his throat and he sat up straight, leaning across the table slightly, “What are the chances you’ll get out of this alive?” 

Will hated that question, hated the way Derek looked at him when he asked him that too. “I don’t know, Nurse. Not very good if the Germans have the forces that Oluransi is reporting.” He had already sent his letter off to his family, informing them of the situation, telling them that he’d write again as soon as he could, but Will had never been good at optimism. He coughed a little, reaching into his pocket. “Listen, Derek. If I don’t make it out of this, I want you to write to my family. Please.” He slid a piece of paper with an address scrawled across it hastily, across the table to Derek.  
Derek looked at him, eyes wide. “So what? I’m supposed to ask around about what happened at Sermaize-les-Bains and then what? What if the worst _does_ happen Will? How am I supposed to explain that I’m just some stranger telling them that their son is dead? And let’s be serious here, Will. If you’re dead, a telegram will reach them faster than news will reach me, and my letter will be like a cut to the heart.” 

Will shook his head, making a soft, aggravated noise. “No, it won’t. I mean, it might be? But don’t you get it, Derek? You know me better than some telegram. You’re my  _ friend. _ They’d be receiving news of my death from a friend. And more than that, you’d tell them all the good shit. About how I was a friend and shit. You’d give them the good. They’ll need that if I die. Please.” His voice cracked and he looked away from Derek, trying to hide the tears burning in his eyes. 

Derek’s own eyes watered slightly and he rubbed at them, looking away. “Okay. If that’s what you want me to do, when I hear about your death, I’ll write to your family about your life, but William Poindexter, you better not die,do you hear me?” He knew that there was a strain in his voice, a sense of desperation, and he hated it, hated how obvious he must seem in his affections. 

Will laughed, the sound a little hollow as he finished his drink. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises. That’s now how war works.” 

Derek just snorted, rolling his eyes as he wiped them, keeping tears from falling. “I know that dumbass but, well, I still need to buy you that drink in New York. And show you around the best parts.” Or he’d try at least. As diverse as New York was, it wasn’t often that you saw a white man being shown around town as a friend. 

Will just smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah of course, we gotta get that drink.” He looked at his empty glass, and then at Derek, taking as much time as he could without being suspicious, mapping the lines of Derek’s face in the poorly lit pub. “If I stay alive, you’ve gotta stay alive too, alright?” He smiled a small half smile, fiddling with the rim of his glass. 

Derek laughed this time, sounding almost as hollow as Will had. “Right. Because when this is all over, we’ll know how to find each other to confirm we’re still alive.” 

Will shrugged. “We were gonna find each other in New York, weren’t we?” And then the idea hit him. He reached around his neck, unclasping a delicate chain with a small, flat pendant on it. He set it on top of the paper with his family’s address, swallowing thickly. “You bring that back to me at the end of the war. To the address on that paper, I’ll be there. And if I’m not, and you didn’t hear about me dying well, my family will tell ya and then you can tell them all about my time here. The good shit.”

Derek took the pendant, examining it closely, shaking his head. It was the Michael, Patron Saint of the military. Of course Will would be wearing this so close to his heart, though he figured it was something his mom or sisters gave to him before leaving. He nodded, fiddling with the small pendant as he looked up at Will. “If you’re sure. You know I’m not even Catholic. This has gotta be some kind of blasphemy.” He tried to crack a joke, but holding the pendant, still warm from Will’s skin, made the reality of this all sink in. Will might die tomorrow. Hell, he might die tomorrow too. The friends he’d made, the people that had become his family, might all die tomorrow. While that was a reality every night before closing his eyes to sleep, it felt even more real now, even more pressing. 

He reached into his pocket, grabbing a piece of paper and setting it on the table, looking up at Will, a small smile on his face. “You have a pen? I suppose if I have to write to your family telling them you’re dead, you have to write to mine. You promise?”

Will looked at Derek in disbelief but he handed him a pen and nodded. “Yeah, Derek, I promise. If I hear about you dying before I die, I’ll do my best to deliver this letter to your family.”

Derek scrawled the address and slid it to Will, wishing for a brief moment, that he had some token to give to Will as well. He knew that the saint Will had given to him was really more to ease his nerves than anything else, to give him peace of mind that they’d meet again, but somehow, somehow it felt like more than that. 

When they finally left the pub, when sleep could be avoided no more, Derek walked with Will to his tent, hands shaking slightly as he stood in front of him. “Be safe tomorrow, Will. Please. I know you. The greenies call you Papa for a reason. Don’t be a hero.” His voice was soft and he refused to look at the other, his throat tight. 

“I can’t promise that, Derek. If I can save one more person--”

“If you can save one more person, save yourself!” Derek cut him off, his tone sharp. “I just mean,” Derek trailed off and sighed, shaking his head. “You have so much more to offer the world than just your blood, Will.” He reached out and hugged him, shaking just a little. His mother had been right, the way he felt, the feelings he felt, they were dangerous, they could get him killed, and worse, they could break his heart. Because while death was not guaranteed, Will Poindexter breaking his heart most certainly was, even if he didn’t mean to. He pulled away, offering Will a small smile. “Stay safe. Okay? I’ll see you when this is over, so you can have Michael back, alright?”  
Will melted into that hug, holding onto Derek tightly, letting himself fully feel the warm feelings simmering just under the surface. This wasn’t brotherhood or comradery. It was something else, something he wouldn’t put a name to, couldn’t put a name to, and something he couldn’t linger on, lest it distract him and get him killed. He looked at Derek, at the small, silver necklace now positioned right next to his dog tags and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah Derek. You too. Stay safe so you can deliver it back to me.” His voice was tight as they said their goodbyes, and he watched Derek fade into the dark before he tried to settle and get even a sliver of rest. 

Dawn broke too quickly for Derek’s liking, but there was some sort of relief that they weren’t being woken up by cannon fire and shouting. They had just enough time to break down their camps before they were rolling out, leaving Sermaize-les-Bains, and Will’s company, behind them. Derek looked back once, as they left the village, catching a glimpse of bright red hair before they rounded the corner and started to work. 

Will woke up just before dawn and started preparing himself and his men for what was to come. They saw the No. 2 out safely, glad that they had a chance to put some distance between themselves and Sermaize-les-Bains, and then they helped get as many civilians out as possible. There weren’t many remaining civilians who were willing to leave, so it made evacuation easier, but Will knew it would make keeping his promise to Derek harder. He had people here to protect, and he’d do whatever he had to, to keep them safe. 

The battle started not more than an hour after Derek left, and it was chaos. In the end, his single company, and the few volunteers from the village weren’t enough to keep up with the German forces. They were forced to surrender. 

Will looked at the small remnants of his company and he felt sick. This was his fault. He should’ve surrendered earlier, or forced more of his men to flee, but instead, they had stayed and fought until they couldn’t anymore, and somehow, he was still alive. He had a bullet in his leg, but he had managed to survive it. When the Germans started barking orders, he kept his head down, doing what he was told and dropping his gun. He sank to his knees, glaring at his men, imploring them to do the same, and putting his hands behind his head. He kept his mind clear, trying not to focus on the fact that he had been captured, and soon, he and his men would be marching to a POW camp somewhere in Germany. All he had room to think about now, was staying alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note y'all. I've been furloughed from my job and am working on moving back home with my folks (about 800 miles away). I have no idea how this will affect updates, but I'll do my damndest. Thank you for sticking around
> 
> [EleanorFenyx](https://eleanorfenyx.tumblr.com/) My friend, and all around wonderful human who has been a massive help writing this  
> [Summerwaves-AutumnSkies](https://summerwaves-autumnskies.tumblr.com/) This is me! Drop me an ask, a prompt, whatever you want!
> 
> EleanorFenyx made a playlist for it??? And I love them??  
> [Check it out here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/157pixLQsrxVUVpwpyQb0e?si=fk1JbrQaTtabbvGOgKTPgA)


	4. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one cope with war ending? With their life changing?
> 
> Potential trigger warning: There is talk of a pandemic and deaths due to that pandemic in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Thank you so much for your patience. Moving was a nightmare and I've only just got settled. I'm going to do my best to have chapter five up sooner rather than later, and to maintain some sense of normal upload times. I appreciate y'all!

Will hadn’t expected to get treated for the bullet wound in his leg, but as they were marched to a small railway, he was struck by the thought that he had no idea if the bullet would ever come out of his leg. He couldn’t find an exit wound, and with every step he took, he could feel something shift in the muscle, feel it shift and ache. 

After the first night in the cramped, filthy wagon, a slight fever set in. He did his best not to worry himself or the men packed away with him, he had suffered through worse, but as the fever got higher, he couldn’t help how his mind spiraled. This was how he was going to die, wasn’t it? In a cramped cattle wagon, on train tracks, a prisoner of war, thousands of miles away from home. 

Time stopped meaning anything on that dingy cattle car; every hour felt like days. Sleep came in short, fitful bouts, and it wasn’t until Tangredi started humming one of Derek’s songs, that any of them were able to get rest. In a rare moment of lucidity, Will managed to thank the private, and wish--to himself and no one else-- that Derek was there with them to keep morale high. As soon as he had the thought, he banished it. Derek was already a song bird caged by the military. He didn’t need an even smaller cage. 

Will didn’t know how long they had been in that cattle car, it could’ve been days or weeks, he slept all the time, exhausted, fevered and in pain, and every day his own death became more and more likely. The last clear thought that ran through his head before he passed out, a few days into the trek to the POW camp, was that he would hate to die like this, without a warm, soft voice singing nearby. 

When he woke up again, he woke up screaming, fingers in his leg. Tangredi held him down, and shoved his fist in Will’s mouth all in one swoop as someone dug the bullet out of his leg. He thought that the bullet entering his body hurt, but he couldn’t even fathom the pain of the bullet being dug back out. He passed out again, thinking that he could’ve gone the rest of his life without feeling that. 

The next time he came to, his fever had spiked, and he felt like he hadn’t had water in weeks. He gasped out for something, maybe his mother, maybe Derek, but when the cool splash of water hit his tongue, he knew that his words had done right by him.

When he woke up again, he was being dragged by the hair, his bandaged leg dragging behind him. His fever was high, and he knew he was going to get shot, going to be left for dead. Noone had the resources to heal a sick prisoner, not anymore. He let his fever take him away, dreaming of a smokey smooth voice, carrying him to better days.

Why were there gunshots in heaven? 

Soothing words and soft hands eased him into heaven, and Will was grateful for the angels that said such sweet things, that all but said he’d hear old shanties again one day soon. 

When he woke up, well and true for the first time since surrendering, he was comfortable, which was odd. The last real sensation he remembered was water running over his lips and down his throat, and the fear that he’d never see--no. He wouldn’t think about that. Not now. He couldn’t now. Not when he didn’t have his wits about him. 

He sat up slowly, wincing as he took in his surroundings. White uniforms, curtains, the clicking of heels on hard floors. “N-Nurse…” He looked around, heart racing, desperate for signs of his company, of his men, desperate for the sound of singing, somewhere, but instead, a small, asain woman came rushing over, her hand on his forehead, a stern look on her face. “Sergeant, we need you to lay back down. You lost a lot of blood, almost lost that leg. You need to relax.” Her voice was stern, but had an oddly soothing effect, and Will did as he was told, laying back down, eyes blank as he stared at the ceiling. 

He couldn’t sleep through the night, no one could, really. Soft groans, screams of terror, names being shouted echoing through the halls. The pain in his leg didn’t help either. The nurse, Larissa, her name was, told him that the bullet had grazed the bone, and that due to the infection, they had had to remove a good portion of the flesh there. He asked that she not tell him any more of the details, unless he needed to know. She gave him a soft, sad look, but agreed. 

He had been in the hospital for two weeks when the remaining members of his company came to see him. They were too thin, too empty eyed for kids their age, but they were alive. It was the first time he had cried since before the war. Tangredi, Tony, was the first to hug him, thanking him for keeping them alive, shaking like a leaf. Or maybe that was Will. Either way, neither man said a thing. His men spent as much time as they were allowed to with him, filling him in on everything that had happened while he had been riddled with infection. The trip to the POW camp had been just over a week and Will had been in a bad state, to say the least. Coming in and out of consciousness, soothed only by the soft songs that the men shared in that cramped cattle car. 

After their visit had his spirits raised, it was Larissa who told him that he’d have to learn how to walk again eventually, massaging the muscle near his injury. The thought was hilarious to him, and he told her as much.

“What do you mean learn to walk again? It was a gunshot to the leg. Give me some crutches and I’ll be just fine.” 

Larissa sighed, slowly helping him stand, watching as pain clouded his face and he began to crumple. The small woman caught him, grunting softly as she supported his weight and helped him sit back down. 

“I know it seems silly, Sergeant, trust me, but like I said, the surgeons took out a good sized piece of flesh. That included muscle. You need to rebuild the strength in it before you can be getting around like you used to.” 

From there, Will set out on his course to recovery, the whole while, working on getting movement back so he could be back out there on the battlefield, back out there looking for a familiar face, searching for a familiar voice. Countless men had had his back, he needed to have theirs. A gunshot wasn’t enough to keep him away. 

“Sergeant Poindexter, I’m afraid that the damage done to the muscle was too severe to ever recover fully. As soon as we have you mobile again, we’re sending you home. Congratulations son, thank you for your service.”

The doctor’s words didn’t fully set in until later that night, when Larissa was busying herself in the surrounding area, talking to Will, as she had taken to doing since he had woken up. “So what are you gonna do when you get home? Got some pretty girl waiting for you?” She teased him, smiling softly. 

Will looked at her, confused for a brief moment before he shook his head. “Got no girl. Just...um. Family. Sisters. Guess...guess I’m going home to pick up the business.” Larissa tilted her head, an eyebrow raised and Will quickly filled in the gap. “Family business. Lobster fishing. Good, honest work. Last letter I got from my sister said that all civilian vessels were being used to protect the homeland but...I mean. They’ve gotta be letting the fishermen fish right? They’ve got families to support…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling, speaking more to himself than Larissa at this point. He coughed, rubbing his neck. “What about you? You got some fella waiting for you in....?” 

Larissa huffed, “Boston. My family’s from Boston. Second generation American, I’ll have you know.” She said that with a mix of familiarity, like it was something she had to defend constantly, homesickness and pride. “And yeah, I’ve got a fella, but he ain’t waiting for me back home. Finished law school right as the Americans joined up.” She paused, tilting her head. “You knew that right? That the Americans joined up? Finally.” She snorted, shaking her head. She had gone up to Canada and offered her services 3 years prior, while Byron, her sweetheart had started law school. 

“Anyway, he joined up with the Air Service. Crazy bastard has always loved planes.” Her smile was fond, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. Fear. There was always fear when your loved ones were off fighting a war. “Byron writes when he can. Doesn’t make a girl worry less.” She checked on Will’s wound, swapping out the bandages, keeping her eyes trained on the task ahead of her. 

Will tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Byron, huh? And you two are...well. It’s safe for you?” His voice was soft, eyes cast down. Mixed relationships were a tricky thing, even in Canada. They were looked down on, and he knew that the United States was even worse when it came to those kinds of things. Larissa’s jaw clenched and she nodded. “We manage. We’ll probably never get married but--well. It’s why he went to law school. To try and change things.” 

He let the subject drop after that, knowing full well the danger it could put the two of them in if word spread around, though he felt even more at ease with her now, knowing that she too, had something to hide. 

The thought caught him off guard, and he couldn’t stop turning it over in his head as he tried to sleep that night. He had always known he was different. When other boys his age were off taking girls to dances, Will was helping his folks out at home. When boys his age were starting to propose and get married, the very idea of it made his stomach turn. And when he was asked about his future prospects, he was always happy to tell people that he was busy with work, busy helping his folks out, and now, well, now he was busy at war. He had all the reasons in the world to not be married. What did he have to hide? He was a soldier, a brother, a fisherman, a son. He didn’t have a damn thing to hide. That was his mantra as he drifted off to sleep. And if he woke up, covered in sweat, a pair of green eyes burned into the back of his eyelids, well, no one else had to know about it, did they?

He left the hospital with a limp and an ache in his heart that he was too much of a coward to even acknowledge. 

His mama cried when she saw him limp up the drive for the first time since he had left just over 2 years ago. The June air was unusually cool, but welcome, as he hugged his mama tight, and then his sisters. His father was waiting for him on the porch, face grim as he studied his oldest child. He stood up and shook his son’s hand before he pulled him in for a hug, patting his back firmly. “You did good, Junior. Getting back to us.” Will just nodded against his father’s shoulder, hugging him tightly. 

Will fell back into a routine like he had never left. He worked at the factory, ignoring the burning ache in his leg, and then he came home and helped his family around the house, helped look after his sisters, had a drink with his father, and listened to the programs on the radio. The only real change in his routine, were the nightly letters he wrote to a Mr. Derek Nurse. They never left his house, and instead stayed in a drawer in his nightstand. He felt silly writing them, but it helped, pretending that his friend, his dear friend, was still alive, still out there. He promised himself that when the war was over, he’d actually go to New York City and look for the man himself, but for now, he’d live in the fantasy world he’d created in his head. He wished that his fantasy could have lasted longer. 

* * *

There had been talk of a virus spreading through America and other parts of the world and western Canada since earlier that year, apparently. And as Will listened to the news of its’ spread, he thought back to the hospital, the quarantined patients who were kept out of sight, and apparently out of mind. He wasn’t too worried. They were calling it the Spanish Influenza, and though there were deaths being reported, he did his best not to worry, did his best to ease the mind of his siblings, of his parents. 

There were whispers in the factory he worked in, about coworkers falling ill, but Will brushed them off, doing his best not to dwell on something he had no control over. He already had enough to worry about. He wasn’t sleeping, woken up frequently by nightmares or pains in his leg, and his parents were growing more and more worried. As the war seemed to be coming to an end overseas, the influenza seemed to be getting worse. In October of 1918, his parents fell ill. Will brought all three of his sisters to his small home and set them up in his bedroom, putting Sarah in charge of them, while he cared for their parents. Their fevers were high and their coughs sounded more painful than the coughs from soldiers who had been gassed with mustard gas. They passed 2 days later. 

Will had developed his own fever, like he had expected to, but just a day after his parents passing, his fever broke, and after another 2 days, he left his childhood home to get the local funeral director and retrieve his sisters. 

It seemed to go downhill from there. He slept less, hearing gunshots and coughing in his nightmares, and he worked more, doing his best to keep his sisters safe and healthy. He couldn’t survive anything happening to them. He couldn’t. So he worked, they lived in their family home, and he sent them the majority of his paychecks every week, doing what he could to keep them safe and alive. And as he did that, distanced himself, worked through the pain, slept less and less, William Poindexter seemed to wither away. His eyes weren’t bright and curious anymore, and muscle that would’ve been seen as attractive once, was too prominent, too bulging, due to his lack of eating. Just over a month after his parents died, the war ended. The celebration that followed lasted for days, and it was the first time Will had allowed himself to spend any time with his sisters after their parent’s funeral. They ate together, drank together, and for the first time since that little village in France, Will sang. He sang shanties and drinking songs he had learned from his comrades, and he let himself feel something other than the aching, numb void that had consumed him. 

A month after the war ended, he pulled a letter out of his nightstand and posted it to the address Derek had given him in the trench, an address he had forced himself to memorize. He waited a week. Two weeks. Three weeks. A month, before he gave up hope that he’d hear back. There were two reasons Derek wouldn’t be writing him back, the first being that he wanted to leave everything about the war behind him, including the men that he had fought with. Honestly, Will wasn’t sure he could fault him for that. He knew that he had ways of getting a hold of his old company, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t reached out to any of them to make sure that they and their families were doing okay. The only other reason that Will could think of, was that Derek was dead. He had died overseas or of the influenza before his letter reached him, and that thought, well, that thought was almost unbearable. 

* * *

Sarah was worried. Her older brother had always been quiet, more of a thinker, a doer, than a talker, but his silence was unusual. The way the light never really reached his eyes anymore was concerning, but she didn’t know what to say anything. She hadn’t seen what her brother had seen. 

She had thought about becoming a nurse, she had been close enough to 18 to go overseas and do her part, but the way her mother had absolutely broken down when Will left, meant that she chose to do what she could on the home front and save her mother any more pain. She just wished she knew what to do to help him, but she didn’t, so she did the only thing she really knew how. She made him come over for dinner every other night, and if he wasn’t sitting around the dinner table with her and their sisters, she was bringing him a meal and checking on him. The way he had looked leading up to the end of the war, a ghost of himself, was not a sight she wanted to see again, so she made sure he ate. 

The markets these days were quiet, ghost towns almost, as people tried to survive the invisible danger that still tore through their country. Even as 1919 crept on, people still didn’t know what to do with it. So they kept their windows closed, kept their mouths covered, and did their best to stay alive. Even so, Sarah Poindexter still needed to do the grocery shopping once a week. As she made her way through the aisles, she couldn’t help but notice a tall gentleman roaming through the grocery store on crutches. It wasn’t totally out of the ordinary that someone else would be in the store at this time of day, but there was something about him that seemed to catch her attention. He had a kind face, a warm face, but as she passed him in the aisle, she noticed two distinct things about him. First, the reason he was on crutches was because he was missing a leg, and second, his eyes had the same despair in them that her brother’s did. 

She finished her shopping, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the look in the young man’s eyes, couldn’t st op thinking about how kind his face was despite the despair. Will’s face wasn’t cruel, but it hadn’t retained the warmth that she remembered. It was blank, only putting up a mask of emotion when he knew he was being watched closely, and it broke her heart. She hoped that their younger siblings hadn’t noticed, but she did, she couldn’t help but notice, and her inability to help made her feel beyond helpless. 

She sighed as she adjusted the bags in her arms and she turned, noticing the man from earlier, struggling to get his own bags righted in his arms. She approached him slowly, her voice soft. “Sir? Could I offer my assistance?” She used the same tone with him that she did with her brother, speaking to him like she was speaking to a wounded animal, but with a smile on her face, trying to offer nothing but kindness. He looked at her quickly, eyes a little wide, a flush covering his cheeks. “I’m fine, really. Thank you though.” 

His tone was curt, though polite, and Sarah bit her lip before offering out a hand. “I’m Sarah. I just...wanted to thank you for your service in the war sir.” 

Tony Tangredi wasn’t shocked often. It was hard to be truly and thoroughly shocked when you were constantly on guard, trying to say the right thing, do the right thing. They had sent him back into the field after treating him for injuries sustained at the hands of the Germans, and if that first service hadn’t done a number on him, the second round had. He was ripped from his thoughts when she thanked him for his service. He laughed a little, the sound strangled and tight. He had been thanked a million times, but usually it was with pity in their eyes, but not this woman, no. She was offering her thanks with a smile and warmth. He set down his bag and took her hand, carefully, back as straight as he could make it, while still standing. “No need to thank me, ma’am. I was just doing what any young man would’ve done for their country. But I am curious. How did you know…? Did the leg give me away?” 

He had been able to joke about losing his leg from the get go, and his doctors credited his quick recovery to that. He knew that the doctors were aware of what soldiers were seeing every day out in the field, so he didn’t bother to correct them. You could make light of anything when you had seen your comrades suffocate on mustard gas. 

Sarah was taken aback but his bluntness on the matter, but she laughed, genuinely, her eyes lighting up. She covered her mouth quickly, blushing a dark, Irish blush, the red starting from her chest and rising to her hairline. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. But no, actually. It wasn’t the leg. You just...have the same kind of look in your eye as my brother. He served in the war too.” Her voice was soft and she picked her bags back up. “Would you like to walk me home? I live near the harbor, if that’s not out of your way. I could help you with your bags and you could escort me. It’s getting late.” She shrugged, her blush darkening just a little. 

Tony laughed, but nodded. “I can carry my own bag, really, but I’m more than happy to escort you home. It just so happens to be on my way.” And wasn’t that lucky for him. 

* * *

Will was the first to notice it, how Sarah seemed to be spending more time away from the house after work. He knew she had friends and a life, and he had no issue, but he was her brother, her protective brother, and he couldn’t help the fear that coursed through him when he thought of his younger sister getting sick, getting the same virus that stole their parents away, so any chance he got, he took the time to remind her to wear her bandanna, to try and stay indoors as much as possible. To be safe. And she insisted, every single time, that she was as safe as she could be. She never did tell him where she went or who she was with, but he did his best to trust her. Will knew that he wasn’t much of anything right now. Not much of a brother, not much of a friend. The only thing he felt good for was making money. Work was something he could do, about the only thing he could do, and so he threw himself into it. 

He knew his sisters missed spending real time with him, his youngest sister, Amelia, had said as much, telling him that she missed playing in the yard with him, missed his humming around the house. He promised her that he’d try to be better, try to do more, but it was hard to run and play when his leg ached, and he couldn’t bring himself to even think of singing any of the songs he knew his sisters loved. Some people would describe him as empty, but fuck he wished that he felt empty. Empty would be easier. Empty would be nice. Instead, he was filled with a maelstrom of anger and bitterness and sadness and grief, without any way of truly expressing it. He could talk to his sisters, sure, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand, and he was thankful for that, but he missed having someone to talk to, someone who’d understand. Still, despite all that, the distance between him and Sarah bothered him. They were close in age, and not having her by his side, supporting him, teasing him, felt odd. It felt like he had another gaping hole left in his chest. 

He tried to be more observant, tried to pay better attention to her actions, but the only thing he learned was that the distance wasn’t just between him and Sarah. His two other sisters kept him at arm's length. Sarah seemed to confide in the two youngers, Erin and Amelia, laugh and joke with them, but as soon as he walked into a room, the giggling ceased abruptly. It went on like that for a few months, until finally, in July of 1919, Sarah came to him, wringing her hands, shaking a little, pale. 

Will looked up from the newspaper when Sarah said his name, and he frowned, rushing over to her without a thought, hands on her shoulders. “Sarah, what’s wrong? What is it? Who do I need to kill?” He tried to make a joke, but his voice was too sharp, too serious, and he saw his sister flinch. He dropped his hands, breath catching. “I’m sorry. What...what is it? Are you okay? Are Erin and Amelia alright?” Sarah waved a hand, trying to dismiss his worry, before she exhaled and finally spoke. “They’re fine, yes. And I’m fine. I just...I’m being courted, Will. By a nice young man.” Her voice was soft, shy in a way that was so unlike her. His eyes widened and he had to search for a seat. He sank down into it slowly, brow furrowing.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” Sarah looked at him, incredulous, before laughing, a small smile spreading on her face. “My word, Will. You’re so serious these days. I’m being courted. A nice young soldier wants to ask for my hand, and the first thing you ask me is ‘Are you pregnant?’. I swear!” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Pa’s dead, so...so I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk to him. Give him your blessing. Please.” 

Will leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face. “You said he was a soldier?” Sarah nodded. “Then my answer is no. A soldier isn’t in any right mind to take care of my little sister.” Sarah scoffed, fire lighting behind her eyes. “Oh? So does that mean you’re unfit to take care of me? Even though you work your ass off to make money to feed us four? Even though you do your best to read stories to the littles at the end of the night? Even though you do your damndest to make sure we don’t have to struggle! I know you’re working more than you’re supposed to with that leg, Will! So tell me, why is a soldier unfit to take care of me, when you’ve been doing it this whole time?” Will slammed a fist down on the table, eyes dark. “Because, Sarah! What if he wakes up one night in the middle of a nightmare and hurts you, huh? What if he loses the will to work because of the shit he’s hearing in his head? What if his body gives out on him, huh?” Will was standing, staring his sister in the eye, jaw tight. Sarah stood her ground, looking him dead in the eye. 

“He lost a leg. But he’s still working. He’s a mechanic, and he’s getting by just fine. I’ve met his family and they’re supportive of him, doing their best to help him when they can.” She paused, wringing her hands, but keeping the resolve firm in her voice. “Now we’re gonna face some struggles. I know that. His leg, the nightmares. It’ll be harder for us because of all that, I know. But we’re both working, and his family is supportive, and you try your best to be…” Will sighed, scratching at his neck as he studied his sister. Despite the fire in her eyes, there was a softness there too. His mind conjured up an image of green eyes, a warm smile and a scruffy beard and his heart twisted. He couldn’t think about that right now, he couldn’t think about him. He refused to let himself hurt like that. Still, even a brief thought of his old friend, made Will’s heart soften a little. “Let me meet him. Bring him for dinner tomorrow. Alright?” Sarah beamed and hugged him tight, nodding against his neck. “I promise, you’ll love him.”

The next morning started out bad. Will had had a dream mixed with a nightmare, images of dark, warm skin and green eyes mixing with images of blood and the sounds of explosions ringing through his mind. When he slipped out of bed, his bad leg was stiff, making his mood even more sour, but he had promised Sarah a fair chance, so a fair chance he’d give. 

His sisters, all three of them, gave him a wide berth that day, recognizing his sour mood for what it was: a bad night’s sleep and memories of a far off land. Worry twisted Sarah’s gut when she opened the door that night, meeting Tony out on the front porch. 

“His mood is sour today. I don’t know what’s going on with him, we ended last night so well too, but he’s just...He’s in the mood to pick a fight. I swear, he’s better than this, so much better than this, the war just…” Tony sighed and he pressed a soft kiss to her head, nodding. “It’s okay. I understand. I know I’m not the smartest, really, but I know how to talk to other soldiers.” He offered her a smile and followed her inside. He stood in the kitchen, back straight, doing his best to not lean on his crutches as he extended a hand to the back in front of him, trying to place where he had seen red hair like that before, besides on his Sarah. 

Will sighed when he heard Sarah clear her throat and he turned to greet her and her young man, eyes widening slightly when he saw Private Tony Tangredi standing in front of him, missing half a leg and leaning on crutches. 

Recognition was almost instant as soon as Will turned around and Tony grinned, eyes brightening. “Papa!” 

The two girls at the table looked at each other, confused, and Sarah’s brow furrowed deeply. “What? Papa? What are you…” But she trailed off when she saw her brother reach out for him and pull him into a tight, bone crushing hug, eyes wet with unshed tears. “You still had that other half of your leg the last time I saw you, Private.” He laughed a little, and Sarah froze, eyes wide. She hadn’t heard her brother laugh since Victory Day. Tony’s own smile was a little hollow, but he reached back for Sarah’s hand, squeezing it. “They sent a few of us back in, needed bodies and all that. I was in the trench the day that Nurse…” He trailed off and then froze, eyes wide. “Shit. Did anyone tell you? The No. 2 got...they got caught up in the trenches. There was mustard gas…” he trailed off, hands shaking. “Oluransi is the only one I know for sure got out. We ran into each other a few weeks after I got home.” Will’s jaw tightened and he felt something inside of him break. He had been holding out that Derek had just wanted to ignore him, that he had wanted to wipe the war from his memory, and instead, Tony had just confirmed his worst fear. He patted the younger man’s shoulder, shaking his head. “No I didn’t know. But thank you. For telling me. If you have Oluransi’s address, give it to me, yeah? So I can write to him, check up on him. I...I haven’t been very good at that and I figure I should do better.” 

The rest of the night went by as smooth as Sarah had hoped that it could. Will listened to Tony ramble, engaged with him, and cracked a smile a few times. It was still and unsure, but he hadn’t smiled in so long, Sarah wasn’t sure he even knew how anymore. It was nice to see that she had been wrong. Before the end of the night, Will took Tony into the den, offering his blessing to his young comrade and hugging him tight. “You better take care of her, you hear me?” Tony just nodded, clutching the ring, Sarah’s mother’s ring, tightly in his hand. 

That night, Will dreamed of warm skin, green eyes, and a smokey voice that he’d never get to hear again. 

The change wasn’t immediate, but Sarah noticed her brother doing more. Spending more time outside of his bedroom, more time outside. Color started to return to his skin, slowly, but surely, and as Tony started to visit more, Will started to eat more, his body weight rising slowly, but enough to make him look a little more alive. The despair was still alive and well in his eyes, she knew that he still suffered from nightmares more often than he didn’t, but the dark circles under his eyes were slowly starting to fade, and she’d take that any day. 

Tony officially proposed to her on Christmas day, and it was the happiest she had been in a long time. 

Just after Christmas, Will was laid off from his job at the factory. He didn’t take it too hard, and he had savings socked away, so they wouldn’t starve, but not having a job was a struggle. It had been such a normal part of his routine that he didn’t know what to do with himself. Tony approached him about an opening at the mechanic’s shop he worked at, and Will jumped on it. 

The work was good, and it kept him busy, and he liked working with Tony, the kid was a good reminder of the kids that made it home from the front, and Will kept that thought close to his heart. 

The news broke in January of 1920, that the United States of America was prohibiting the manufacturing and distribution of alcohol within their borders. It wasn’t a huge shock, there had been a movement fighting for prohibition, though Will didn’t really get it himself. If it didn’t affect him, he tried not to linger on it too long. Then it started to affect him. There were whispers around the shop about the money that could be made running liquor to secret clubs and bars along the border. When he slipped into one of those whispered conversations and asked about the number, he was floored. Was he hurting for money? No. Not really. But those sorts of figures were nothing to balk at, and if you were a good driver, then shit, you could stand to make a hefty sum. 

It was Tony who finally came to him with a package that he needed help delivering. They made the 10 hour drive from West Advocate to Boston in 7 hours, and when Will came home, his eyes were bright, and there was an almost feral grin on his face. 

It wasn’t just that the act of doing something incredibly illegal gave him a rush, it was the driving. He was able to get out of his head for once and see different parts of his own country and the United States. It had felt so damn freeing. He knew then, that he had found his calling. After Sarah and Tony’s wedding, Will insisted that Tony stay in Canada and not risk getting caught. It had been that argument that led to Tony figuring out the secret to a strong, smooth moonshine. It only took him another year to establish a reputation as a fast runner and a quality manufacturer, and by 1922, Will had two stills set up, and a chain of speakeasies demanding his product. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to [EleanorFenyx](https://eleanorfenyx.tumblr.com/) for their friendship and encouragement. Couldn't do this without them. For real. lol. And if you wanna follow me on Tumblr, [You can follow me here!](https://summerwaves-autumnskies.tumblr.com/)


	5. Little Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Growth, Setbacks and more Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning: Again, brief mentions of a pandemic. More seriously, brief mentions of lynching. It doesn't happen at all, but is mentioned as a possible outcome of Derek being black, spending time with a white man. Brief mentions of homophobia and violence against a queer person, but I do mean B R I E F

Growing up, music had been ingrained in every part of Derek’s life. From the moment he woke up, he could hear his mama humming away in the kitchen, to the moment he went to bed, when his papa sang him to sleep. It’s why he sang as much as he did, thousands of miles from home; it made him feel closer to those he loved. 

Derek couldn’t sing.  A week after the retreat from  Sermaize-les-Bains, and he couldn’t fucking sing. Every note, every word, made his stomach twist, even though all he wanted,was to sing. To feel closer to Will. Closer to the men who were no doubt lost in that little village. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to focus on the fact that they hadn’t heard word from Will’s unit since the German attack. There was no reason why they’d hear from them, so all Derek could do, was push forward and do what he could to help end the war sooner. 

Derek fell asleep with Will’s Patron Saint necklace wrapped around his hand every night, whispering a soft prayer to a god he didn’t believe in, hoping for Will’s safety. 

* * *

Three months after the retreat from  Sermaize-les-Bains, Derek saw Tony Tangredi in a Belgian town. He felt such an enormous weight lift off his chest that he staggered, pushing through the crowd to the young soldier. He laughed as he clappe d the man’s shoulders, grin widening when the other man seemed to recognize him. The rush of joy that went through him was undeniable, because it felt like solid proof that Will was still alive, still out in the fields fighting. 

There was an undercurrent of fear when he thought about Tony’s presence, and Will’s apparent lack of a presence. Tony was a good kid, a sweet kid, but he wasn’t much of a soldier. If he was here, out here fighting, and Will was nowhere to be seen...

“He was taken to a hospital. He got shot, infection set in.” Tony interrupted Derek’s internal spiraling. “He’s fine, alive and kicking. You know the Sarge, he’s not that easy to drop. But he’s done. His nurse said he had some recovery left, so I figure he’ll be there until the new year.” It was a safe enough assumption really. He had a cousin who had been injured in a similar way, who had stayed in that military hospital for  _ months  _ before finally heading home. As much as he missed having the calming presence of his first Sergeant, there was a small part of him that was glad that at least one of his friends would make it home to their family. 

That night, Derek sang for the first time, and the companies surrounding him felt a small sliver of peace. 

Peace never lasted long in war. 

* * *

Survival was never guaranteed, and Derek felt lucky to have survived the hellscape that was war, for as long as he had, to be honest. There had been talk along the front of a disease, dropping soldiers left and right, of a new weapon that the Germans were using to cripple entire armies, and through all that, Derek had still managed to survive. Sure, Derek wasn’t in the same danger that someone like Tony was, but he was, more often than not, knee deep in mud, muscles burning under the strain of heavy equipment. If a bomb went off, he was toast. 

His luck ran out one, cold morning in 1918. The screams that filled the trenches that night would haunt him forever. 

It was bitter cold and Derek was focused on getting a French-Canadian soldier to the medical tent, whispering in broken French that it would be alright, he would make it home. He was so wrapped up in trying to soothe the hysterical soldier at his side, that he almost didn’t notice the shouts of his superiors to run. And then he heard the explosion, a bomb being dropped. He screamed in agony as he was hit with a piece of shrapnel, falling to the ground, the other soldier half on top of him, pressing him into the mud. Derek’s last thoughts before he passed out, were of Will, hoping that he was home, safe, and free from this sort of pain. 

* * *

He woke up in pain, the skin on his neck and hands burning, his throat dryer than sandpaper, and agony surrounding him on all sides. He could hear other soldiers screaming, sobbing in pain, and it made his chest tighten, anxiety filling him. 

“N-nurse! Nurse, please! I can’t...I can’t breathe!” Was that his voice? Was that scratchy, rough thing, really his voice? A small, Asain woman ran to him, checking him over and sighing, placing her hands on either side of his neck, careful of his injuries, sighing. “You’re alright, soldier. Just focus on my voice okay? I want you to start out with a slow breath, as deep as you can make it, and then we’ll get you some water okay?” 

He had never felt like this before. Not in all his time fighting a war, not while growing up in New York, he had never felt this helpless. Finally, his chest seemed to loosen, just a little, and his breathing evened out a little. The water that the nurse helped him drink soothed his sandpaper throat, but when he tried to speak again, he still sounded like gravel was rattling away in his throat. 

“What happened to me?” Was all he was able to get out without feeling out of breath. He laid back, eyes fluttering shut, trying to breathe as that same tightness started to settle into his chest. The nurse sighed, her voice softening. “Mustard gas. You’re one of the lucky ones believe it or not. You’re gonna hurt, and you’ll probably never run a marathon, but you’ll be alright.” His eyes shot open and he sat up fast, too fast, groaning as the burns on his skin twisted slightly. “Singing.” His nurse raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Will I ever be able to sing again?” He was panting by the time he got all the words out, groaning slightly, eyes shutting. He heard the nurse sigh and pick something up from the nightstand. “Derek Nurse, huh? It’s a good name. My name is Larissa Duan. I can promise to help you recover, help get you home, but as for singing? I’m sorry, kid. That’s a no can do.” 

Derek didn’t open his eyes again, instead, he let reality of her words settle over him, as he fell asleep, despair filling him, entirely. 

He didn’t speak more than one or two words at a time, for just over a week. It was how he dealt with change, loss, and pain. He just shut himself away. His nurse seemed to have other ideas about how he should be recovering, and she didn’t keep it a secret. 

“All this silence is just going to make it harder to get your voice back, Derek.” 

“You know, I read about this asthmatic woman who sang in all these short notes so she could breathe easier, and she had a gorgeous voice, apparently.”  
“I swear, the fellas in France were more fun than you.”

One crisp morning, her tone was different. Softer, less peppy and more somber. “You know, Derek, you really are one of the lucky ones. You’re here, alive and on the mend. You’re not dying a slow death. You’re living.” She exhaled slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Listen. I worked at another military hospital before this one. It got destroyed in an air raid. Wasn’t supposed to happen, hospitals are off limits, you know? But it was destroyed. And we, the doctors and nurses, I mean, we tried to get them all out as soon as we were told about the planes headed our way, armed to the teeth, but where were we supposed to take them?” Her breath caught and she rubbed her eyes, steadying her breath before she spoke again. “My point in all this is, you’re lucky. You could be like those Canadian boys who will never be able to go home to their mama’s.” 

Derek was listening, he always listened, and he knew that she was right, he was moping, languishing away, a husk of his former self, but he didn’t know how to pull himself out of this. He had promised his father that when he came back, he’d have songs for them, and now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever sing again. As right as he knew Larissa was, it wasn’t until she said something about Canadian boys, that he actually perked up. He sat himself up slowly, brow furrowed. “Canadians? What...division.” He spoke slowly, his chest still aching, but he was breathing just a touch easier now. 

Larissa looked at him, brow furrowed. “Well, we had just taken in the Sixth, but we had a few stragglers from the Fourth still there. They were German prisoners, and some of them were in real rough shape. I don’t envy whoever’s going and reporting their loss to the families.” They had been good boys, young, with such a future ahead of them. She couldn’t help but think of Byron and hope, pray, that no news from him, was good news. 

Meanwhile, Derek was spiraling. The Fourth. The Fourth had been in a hospital on the French border that was no longer active. Because it had been bombed. He couldn’t stop the panic this time, couldn’t stop the way his breathing came too fast, too hard, couldn’t stop the thoughts that spiraled. He reached up, patting his chest until he found the small Saint coin resting just over his heart and he squeezed it, tightly, as tears began to streak his cheeks. Larissa stayed with him as long as she could, resting her hand on top of his, doing all that she could to support the broken soldier at her side. 

He tried to speak more, after that. Answering Larissa’s questions, asking questions of his own (“Wait you’re from Boston? What’s it like!?), and slowly, but surely, rebuilding some sort of lung capacity. The doctors explained that he’d likely never get to where he was, and the rougher quality of his voice was more than likely permanent, but with practice and patience, he wouldn’t struggle to speak, or walk or jog. He wrote to his family as soon as he could, informing them of what had happened, and telling them that he’d be home soon. 

It took two months before the doctors finally released him. He offered Larissa his thanks, hugging her goodbye and telling her to bring Byron to New York for a visit when the war was all over, and then he boarded the boat home. 

* * *

His mama cried when she saw him, scar tissue lightening up his neck, hand tucked into a pocket. His papa was quieter, studying him with a sternness that Derek wasn’t quite used to from his father. The night was spent quietly, eating dinner, catching up on things he had missed on the home front. His mama asked him once, when he thought the war would be over, and he froze up, just shaking his head. For the first time since Derek was a young boy, the Nurse household went to bed without a single song in the air. 

He wrote close to a hundred letters to Will’s family, informing them of his untimely death, telling them about his bravery, his courage, his loyalty, but he threw away every single one. Finally, he settled on a simple letter, two pages, telling them about Will’s death in a hospital, thanking them, for raising such a strong, brave man. He debated throwing the Saint Michael pendant into the envelope, but in the end, he let himself be selfish, and he kept it. He put the small token on a longer chain, keeping it tucked under his shirt at all times. 

* * *

Weeks later, just over a thousand miles away, Sarah Poindexter read a letter, telling her of her brother’s bravery in battle, and his untimely death. She set the letter down, frowning as she looked out the kitchen window, at her brother, playing in the front yard with their youngest sister. The letter went into the fire without a second thought. 

* * *

Shortly after his return home, his family pestered him for the new songs he had promised before he had left, begged for him to recite poetry, hoping to get a full sentence out of him, but he refused. 

It all came to a head one night after dinner, when they were sitting around the radio listening to a program and Derek’s father snapped. “Dammit, son, when are we gonna hear that voice again? We need a little joy in these trying times!” Derek’s jaw tightened and he stood from his spot in the corner, tears forming. “Don’t you think I would if I could?” 

Even that short sentence had his breath coming faster, heavier, than normal. “I tried, papa. You can even write to my nurse and ask her! I tried singing in that damned hospital and I just...couldn’t.” He sank back down into his seat, breathing as deeply as he could, trying to ignore the burning in his throat, the tightness in his chest. 

“Your nurse? You’re writing to her, honey?” His mama questioned, seeming to cling to that little piece of information. “Is that who you spend all that time writing to? Are you worried about her? Is that what’s got your voice all tightened up?” 

Derek shrank back into the corner, just nodding, going along with whatever his parents wanted to think. They wouldn’t understand that he spent hours writing letters to a deadman he hadn’t even known that well. They wouldn’t understand why he signed all of them ‘Love, Derek’ or ‘Always yours, Derek’. They’d be ashamed, is what they’d be. His mama had warned him, so many years ago, that being attracted to men, the way he was, was dangerous. Wrong. So he knew he had to keep it secret. 

When he refused to tell his family any more about his nurse, they teased him for his secrecy, but pried no longer, allowing him to drift off and dream of the life that he had wanted to build for himself one day. A life filled with poetry and song, and a tall red headed man at his side, humming along with every tune. 

He took a job at a restaurant, a few months after his return, cleaning dishes. He kept his head down, worked hard, and tried to put on a smile for his family. It wasn’t fulfilling work, but it kept him out of the house, kept him moving, kept his mind from straying too much. He’d spend hours in his favorite park after work, notebook open on his lap, writing dozens of poems a day, poems that he’d never read outloud. 

He never did hear back from Will’s family, but he figured that was all for the best, they all needed to move on at some point. 

* * *

Amelia Nurse loved her son fiercely and would do whatever it took to protect him and his soft heart. Her boy was different now, rougher around the edges, sharper, even, and it broke her heart. She and her husband did what they could to make him smile, make him laugh, but it was almost like the ability to do either of those things had been lost to him in the war. She didn’t notice any improvement in him until late August, when he finally found a job somewhere. He seemed to smile more, he told more stories, and she even caught him humming, late one night. It was nice to see some life returning to her only son, so, when she found a letter addressed to him in the mail, from a Sergeant William Poindexter, she panicked. She had no idea what a letter like this would do to his progress. The war had just ended, and she could’ve sworn he was humming more, whispering songs under his breath. That sort of progress meant too much to just throw away because his Sergeant sent him a letter, so she tucked it away, deep in the hope chest at the foot of her bed. 

* * *

Larissa started writing to him 2 months after the end of the war. The first letter she wrote fell into his mother’s hands, and she teased him for trying to hide his sweetheart from the family. He started checking the mail himself, after that. 

It was nice to be able to write to someone who understood what he was going through, someone who checked in on his wellness and reminded him to do his breathing exercises.It was nice to talk about more than just the war and his health. Larissa told him all about her sweetheart, Byron, and how they had found each other after the war (at a pub in London, having one last drink before boarding the ship home). And Derek told her all about the poetry he was writing, though he skirted around the gender of his subject. It helped bring his smile back, helped remind him that there was life beyond the (metaphorical and literal) ache in his chest, that love existed. They talked about a visit, but with the influenza spreading, they didn’t want to risk it, and instead, put it off. 

Derek and his family celebrated the new year together, quiety, sharing food and drinks, and it was the first time since the war had started that Derek felt light, free. And then the first of the fireworks went off. Derek wasn’t totally sure what happened, one moment he was sitting in his chair, and the next, he was on the ground, underneath the kitchen table, eyes shut tight, breaths coming in heavy gasps. It wasn’t the first panic attack he’d had since he had come home, but it was the first his parents had seen him have. 

When he finally calmed down, he apologized, his voice soft, shaking, and he went to bed. He didn’t come out of his room for 3 days afterwards.

When he finally emerged, it was to go back to work, and suddenly, it was like months of progress were erased. Derek was ashamed. He had let himself get too comfortable, too complacent, and now, every day loud noises startled him. 

His first day back at work, he yelled at a busboy for dropping a plate. He apologized later, but he was shaken up the rest of the day. 

* * *

Late winter turned to spring, and slowly, but surely, Derek was back on the mend, less jumpy, writing out in the park again, and as spring turned into early summer, and the spread of influenza slowed, Larissa and Byron started talking about coming out for a visit again. Byron had some time off from law school, and Larissa just needed a break, so they planned the visit for around the Fourth of July, a time that Derek now dreaded. Larissa insisted it would be good for him to get out, experience the fireworks with the safety of his friends nearby, and Byron agreed. He, of all people, knew what Derek was going through, and Larissa told him that Byron had promised to help ground him the whole time. 

He met them at the train station, the smile on his face genuine and warm, as Larissa ran to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Look at you, standing on your own two legs.” She pulled back, tilting his head slightly and then taking his hands, looking them over and nodding. “You’re healing really well, Derek. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was gentle and she stepped back, standing next to a tall white man, a soft flush on her face. “This is Byron Knight.” 

Byron grinned at him and then glanced around before he reached out to shake Derek’s hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure. Larissa’s told me all about you.” Derek laughed, eyebrow raised. “All the good stuff and none of the bad, I hope?” Byron chuckled and Larissa snorted. “Come on, Nurse. You know me better than that. He got all the gorey details as soon as we reconnected.” She winked at him, the three of them laughing. 

They were an interesting group to see out in public together, and thank god they were up north. Derek had heard stories about the south, about black men who were lynched for daring to walk as close to Byron as he was. The stares followed them from the streets into the small diner they slipped into, moving into a quiet little corner near the back of the building. Byron and Derek talked about their time overseas in vague detail, mostly talking about the places they had been. Byron was an incredible story teller, and Derek pressed for details about some of his riskier flights, and what it was like up there in the sky. 

They spent most of the night like that, the three of them hunched together, talking about what they had done when they got home, how they were reintegrating, and even about their desires to go back to Europe now that the war was over, just to visit. When they left the diner and went their separate ways, Byron and Larissa were staying at one of the Knight family summer homes (Derek had been shocked to learn how wealthy Byron’s family was), it was nearly 11pm, and Derek hadn’t felt so free in years. 

* * *

Larissa Duan was a blessing and a curse. On the second day of their visit, the three of them went to Derek’s favorite little park and found a quiet corner to spend their day in, lazing in the sun. It was during one of these quiet moments, that Larissa decided to bring up Derek’s poetry. 

“You said you were writing more. Read us something.” Derek pushed back, laughing and shaking his head, trying to hide the way his heart twisted and his stomach sank. Most of his stuff was about lost love and yearning, and he assumed no one would ever read his stuff, so he made no secret about what--better yet, who--he was yearning for. 

Byron’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “Derek, please. You’ve gotta read us something! Come on! It would put an old man’s heart to rest!” 

Derek couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re only a couple years older than I am. Hardly an old man.” He huffed softly before he bit his lip, his gut tightening as he pulled his notebook out. He flipped through it, trying to find the least damning piece, trying to find something that would get them off his back and still leave him his privacy. He paused on a piece, taking a deep breath before reading it. 

“Vague. 

That is how I love you. Unknown and untold and secret. 

Fully. That is how I love you. In a way that I have never experienced. As if my heart knew that it was yours and yours was mine before even I did. 

I love you with a poet’s heart, a heart that would immortalize you in a thousand sonnets and a million words. 

I love you as Orpheus loved Eurydice, enough to go to the depths of hell to get you back. 

I love you greater than he loved her, because I would not turn back. 

To have you again, in the only way I ever did, for just a moment, just a breath, I would give my voice for just a moment, to tell you of my love.”

When he looked up from his notebook, heart aching, breath short, he was shocked by the tears running down Larissa’s face, the way she grabbed at Byron’s hand, and the soft way Byron looked at him, seeming to understand. 

“How did they die?”

Derek couldn’t even pretend not to notice how Byron used a neutral pronoun, as if he knew, even if he couldn’t know. Derek had been careful to have at least one or two pieces without pronouns, one or two pieces where he didn’t describe Will, only his love for him, his love for the idea of him. He took a breath, closing his notebook, voice soft. 

“Hospital was attacked. Not sure if it was an accident or not, but...never made it stateside.” 

Larissa inhaled sharply, gripping Byron’s hand a little tighter, and the mustachioed man’s mouth set in a firm line before he reached out and clasped Derek’s shoulder, sighing. “I’m sorry. Did...did he know?” 

Derek felt himself get smaller, when Byron referred to him as ‘he’ but he shook his head nonetheless. They both knew now, there was no hiding it. Even in his safest work, he was so damn obvious. Too damn obvious. 

The silence was thick and heavy, until finally, Byron broke it, leaning back in the grass. “The world is a crazy place, Nurse. But not so crazy that you shouldn’t have a shot at love.” His voice was gentle, and he smiled. “You’re good people. Now, be a better person and take us to that ice cream place with the crazy flavors.” 

Derek couldn’t help but laugh, and they stood up, shaking the grass from their clothes, before they went on with their day. 

* * *

The Fourth was...something. If Byron was tense, Derek was straight up jumpy at every crack and every pop. By the end of the night, his nerves were shot and he was ready to climb into his bed and never leave, but, he hadn’t panicked, hadn’t lost all his breath, he was safe and present and okay. 

It wasn’t the worst night ever. 

Saying goodbye to Larissa and Byron was hard, but he hugged Larissa tight, shook Byron’s hand firmly--having hugged him at his summer home in private already--and then wished them off, smiling, a real, true smile, the whole walk home. 

He hummed softly as he walked into his family’s small kitchen, grabbing an apple, freezing, when he heard his mother’s voice. “You know honey, you could’ve introduced us to your friends. I know you’ve got your life, I do, but I would’ve liked to meet the people making you smile so much.” 

Derek chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you’d believe your eyes, Mama. The friends I was with? A rich white man and an Asain-American woman.” 

His mother froze, eyes wide. “Derek Nurse...you know what kinda trouble that could bring on us if someone misunderstood how you were acting with them?” Derek winced and then sighed, nodding. 

“Yes, mother. I’m aware. Which is why we were careful. We spent most of our time in parks, or at his family’s place. Where we were all alone. And when we were in public together, I sat a fair bit away from him so I didn’t look suspicious. I know. But Byron’s a good man. He wasn’t trying to entrap me or any bullshit like that.” His mother frowned, her shoulders tense, but she nodded. “If you’re sure. Just want you to be careful. You came back to us alive and in one piece, I don’t want you going off and getting yourself killed because you got too friendly with a white man.” Derek sighed, reaching out and hugging his mother tightly. “I promise. I’ll be safe okay?” He felt his mother nod against his shoulder, and they left it at that. 

* * *

Derek fell back into his routine. Work, writing, (fitful) sleeping, and a few meals thrown somewhere in between all that. It was a good routine, if a bit dull. In early August, he heard back from a teaching job, and in September, his routine changed just a little. 

Teaching was everything he had hoped it would be when he was in college. He got to encourage young minds and distract himself from the clutter in his mind. Breathing came easier to him, and he was able to get out entire poems without panting more and more. Not to mention the amount of pacing he did seemed to be doing wonders. There were days where he ached more than he cared to admit, but things were looking up, looking brighter, like he could finally see the light at the end of the dark, long tunnel. 

He welcomed in the new year with his family and the last drop of alcohol he’d have for a while. 

* * *

1920 was an odd year. 1919 had been all progress, the end of a war and a new beginning for white women in America, being able to vote. 1920 started off with liquor prohibition. Now, Derek had never been much of a drinker. He enjoyed an occasional drink of whiskey with his father, but that was about it, but having it outlawed entirely felt a little ridiculous. Byron was very much in the same boat, writing him long letters about how it was downright unamerican to be unable to drink. His mama figured it was a good thing, keep boys like him out of trouble. Whenever she said that, he’d roll his eyes and remind her of how little he really did drink. 

Still, even if he wasn’t as affected as his friend, 1920 started off on a weird foot, and the years following didn’t get any less strange. 

1922 found Derek on a long walk in his favorite park after work. Even on its busiest day, the park was quieter than his classroom, and he needed that sort of calm before he went home. 

One day, in late spring, he was denied that calm entirely. 

He was humming to himself--he still hadn’t worked up to singing, too afraid to see what the mustard gas had done to his voice to try--as he walked, hands in his pockets, when he heard someone shout his name. His whole body froze and he turned, looking for the person shouting for him. 

* * *

Jack Zimmermann was an oddly lucky man. He had started his life out very lucky, born into an affluent family who made sure he had the best education, and then he continued to get luckier. At university, he met an American, fiery and strong willed and so fucking beautiful that he made Jack’s heart do strange things. Jack was lucky, in that Kent’s heart, were doing the same strange things whenever he saw Jack. He was lucky again, when his parents caught him, and didn’t disown him, instead, offering their love and support, asking how they could help him keep it quiet, keep it private. That event estranged Jack and Kent, and that was the one spot in his life that Jack would say he was unlucky. Even being drafted didn’t seem an unlucky bit, because it led to him meeting the man he was sure he’d love until he couldn’t love anymore. Eric Bittle. Sweet and friendly and just as in love with Jack as Jack was with Bittle. 

Through the war, his luck continued. A gunshot wound to the thigh  _ not  _ getting infected, two desperately trying to get him to a medic after he seemed to lose his balance, his entire world swimming. And then, one of those same privates desperately trying to get him out of harm's way after he took a bullet to the side. He didn’t remember much from that particular event, but he remembered Derek Nurse. He remembered how the other could’ve gotten further away without him, could’ve protected himself better without Jack’s dead weight on top of him, but instead, he had tried to keep him safe. 

So call it luck, call it divine providence, whatever you wanted to think it was, when Jack saw a familiar face in a New York park one afternoon in 1922, he thought he was pretty damn lucky. 

“Nurse? Derek Nurse! Is that you?” He struggled to run, and instead hoped that his hoarse voice would carry enough to make the other man stop. His lungs still hadn’t fully recovered from the mustard gas attack, the reason why he took these long strolls through the park. He wanted to be able to breathe again, to be able to go back to Eric a whole, complete man, instead of this shadow. “Derek Nurse!” He grinned when he saw the man freeze, and he walked up to him, panting softly when he finally stopped. “Do you recognize me at all?”

* * *

Derek looked at the panting man, brow furrowed deeply. There was something about his face, something kind, and almost familiar, like it was part of a memory, but not a memory of him, a memory of someone else. His eyes widened when it dawned on him and he inhaled sharply. “Zimmermann…” His knees shook slightly and he reached out for something to steady himself with, finding only air. 

Jack reached out, steadying the other man, a small smile on his face. “Jack. Jack Zimmermann. It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

Derek steadied and then he nodded, laughing a little. “Right. Yeah. Nice to meet you too, Captain.” He smiled a little, able to straighten himself up. “If I may...We were never introduced back in France. How did you…?” He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. 

Jack flushed a little and laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We met again in Belgium too. You probably don’t remember that as well, it happened so fast. You were trying to get me to a medic when we were hit with mustard gas. It was detonated close to my original post. The doctors said if I had stayed there, my burns would’ve been too severe to recover from. I asked how I got away and they just said that I was found with Private Derek Nurse, so I assumed…” 

Derek’s breath caught as he remembered that night, remembered the pain, the weight on top of him. “I remember. You were speaking French. I figured you were too hurt to speak anything else.” He laughed a little, hands shaking, tears springing to his eyes. “You survived…” Jack nodded, “You did too. They said you were recovering, but you never know how those things go...What about Sergeant Poindexter? You two always seemed close when you were in the same area.” 

Derek’s eyes cast down and he swallowed thickly. “He’s...he’s gone. There was an air raid and the hospital he was in got caught in the middle. The doctors and nurses barely survived.” Jack bowed his head, pressing his hand to his heart. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.” Derek’s voice was a little tight when he responded. “The best…” 

Jack frowned a little, hearing the tightness in Derek’s voice, trying to place why it sounded so familiar. “Come on. Let’s sit and talk. Catch up?” Derek just nodded, following him to a nearby bench. 

The two men talked for hours, about everything. Being home, the adjustment, what they’d been up to. Derek even made a few jokes about putting off grading. They laughed. It was like they were two old friends, catching up after years apart, as opposed to two soldiers who had merely brushed passed each other in the gunfire. As the sun started to set, Derek stood, smiling. “Thank you. For talking. For saying something. I’m glad you’re home safe. You got somewhere to stay tonight? A sweetheart you’re staying with?” Derek teased, wiggling his eyebrows and chuckling. 

Jack just laughed, shaking his head. “No, not staying with my sweetheart. He’s all the way down in Georgia. Doesn’t even know I’m in the States.” Suddenly, he froze, as if the words he said finally caught up with him. Derek’s eyes widened and his heart stopped, a mixture of utter terror and immense joy ripping through him. He reached out, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder briefly, before pulling it away. “Me too. Well. Mine’s dead but...but he…” his voice was soft, shaking with words he had only said aloud a few times before. Calling his sweetheart a he. Even referring to Will as his sweetheart wasn’t something he did. This was new. It felt...good. Jack’s eyes widened and he nodded in understanding.

“You busy Friday night?” Derek tilted his head at the odd question but he shook his head, no. Jack just smiled. “There’s something you oughta see. Meet me here at dusk.” 

Derek tensed, jaw tight. “Is this some sick joke? You try and lure out queers so you can beat ‘em to death or something like that?” 

Jack’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No! Jesus Christ, no! There’s just...there’s a place for people like us, alright? Somewhere safe where we can have a drink or two.” 

Derek’s shoulders remained tense, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah alright. I’ll see you here at dusk. But if I don’t come home the morning after, you better run, because people will know where to come looking.” 

Jack just nodded, offering a quiet goodbye as they went their separate ways. 

* * *

Saying he was nervous was an understatement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Derek just seemed to know this was a bad idea, going out to meet a man late at night? A white man he hardly knew, no less? But he made sure to post a letter to Byron and Larissa, and he left a note under his blankets for his mother to find if he didn’t make it back by morning. He slipped out of his house and walked to the park, hands in his pockets. He spotted Jack near the bench they had talked at just a few days prior, and approached him slowly, trying to spot any nefarious looking figures lurking in the shadows nearby.

Jack spotted him and smiled, nodding his head as he started to walk, Jack and Derek walking side by side in relative quiet for a few minutes before Jack spoke up. “Thank you, for trusting me. You’ll love this place, I swear. There’s music and dancing. It’s a good place to just relax.” 

Derek just nodded, staying quiet until they got to their destination. The building was old and run down, and Derek was on high alert, fists clenched tightly, jaw even tighter. As Jack led them through to the back, and then knocked on a door, Derek only got more tense. It wasn’t until they were down an odd set of stairs, surrounded by a mixed crowd, that he relaxed. As he looked around the room, the diversity struck him. Blacks dancing with whites, smiles on people’s faces, soft jazz drifting through the room. And there, in a corner, two men kissing, their hands tangled together. 

Derek had never felt this light before, never felt like he belonged, and yet here he was, in a place that was a safe haven for people like him. His heart twinged and he brought his hand up to the Saint Michael around his throat, squeezing it. Will had been a straight, white man, but that didn’t stop him from wishing, in a deep, secret part of his heart, that he was with him now. He spent the night laughing and dancing, having a few drinks, feeling more himself than he had since the war had started. He knew that this would be a secret he took to his grave, but if that was the only way he got to have this little slice of heaven, he’d take it. 

* * *

Samwell became a regular place for him, though the day he went varied on how much grading he had, he always went Friday or Saturday night. He got to know the bartenders and the band, he got to know the regulars, and every so often, he and Jack would meet up and share a drink, share stories. He’d ask if Jack had talked to his sweetheart yet, and Jack would laugh, say no, and ask if Derek had  _ found  _ a sweetheart yet. 

One Saturday night, or maybe it was Sunday morning, Derek had stayed well past final call, and he found himself helping the short staffed bar with cleanup. As he swept the stage, he started to hum, before he glanced around the room, and started to sing. He had started singing more recently, though only when he was alone. It was a soft, somber tune, but it felt good to sing it, good to let it out. He was pulled from his song when he heard clapping. He froze, shoulders tense. “Sorry. I was just finishing up here. I’ll be headed out soon.” The owner, a strange, but kind man, named Johnson--Derek didn’t know his first name, and he wasn’t sure he knew anyone who  _ did _ \--shook his head, hands raised. “No, no, you were great! You know, Cherie just gave me her notice. Looks like she’s having a kid and she wants to cut her hours back. There’s a spot open if you want it. Friday nights sound good to you?” 

Derek was frozen, unsure of how to respond. It sounded like a perfect offer, and the worst at the same time. He hadn’t sung for a crowd since the war. What kind of memories would it dredge up? Would he even be able to sing for hours at a time? He took a breath, doing his best not to spiral down that hole. His breathing was strong, not as strong as it had been once, he knew that much, but he was singing full songs without gasping for air, and with a microphone to help project his voice…

“I’m in, yeah. I look forward to starting next week.” 

He and Johnson shook hands before Johnson shooed him out. “My guy Dex is delivering my liquor order this morning, looking to be here any time now. He’s a private fella, not much for an audience, and the fewer people who know his face, the better. Get outta here, Nurse. We’ll see you next week.”

Derek just nodded, setting the broom aside and grabbing his jacket as he slipped out of the speakeasy, dawn just starting to break over the New York skyline. Maybe some of Jack’s luck had started to rub off on him after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Two chapters so close together! Whooo. Things are moving right along. 
> 
> On a serious note: I am white. I took on this story knowing that there would be certain things I struggled to write, purely because they aren't things I experience, primarily, racism. I've done my best to do research, and considering how things haven't changed much in the world today, used what I know about things going on today, to influence how I write this. I'm doing my best to not step out of place, while still addressing something that was present and real in the 1910's and 20's. If any readers of color spot issue with my work, please get a hold of me and let me know. If there are ways I can handle it better, and you have the energy to do so, please let me know. Much love to everyone out there. 
> 
> Update: I fixed a year. Oops lmao   
> I would also like to apologize for TOTALLY BLOWING OVER WOMEN'S SUFFRAGE. I mean, I know it would only apply to Will's sisters, but also, holy fuck that feels like a big thing my brain just...forgot about. Anyway.
> 
> The poem was deeply inspired by [Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII](https://thebadbread.com/2017/02/08/featured-poem-sonnet-xvii-by-pablo-neruda/#:~:text=I%20do%20not%20love%20you,the%20shadow%20and%20the%20soul.)
> 
> If you want, follow me or get a hold of me on my [Tumblr, please do](https://summerwaves-autumnskies.tumblr.com%5D)


	6. Just Passing Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many near misses can two people have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a touch shorter than normal, but I figured after two monsters (6k and 7k) I might take a bit of a break, while still pumping out content. Enjoy!

Will huffed as he hauled a large, heavy case into Samwell, through the back door, freezing when he heard a door slam upstairs. He stayed back, in the shadows, jaw tight, until he was sure that no one was coming down those steps. He shook his head as he set the case down in storage, a sharp frown on his face. “Who the hell was that, Johnson? You know my deal. The fewer people who know my face, the better.” 

Johnson chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s a good kid, doesn’t want any trouble. He’s gonna be covering for Cherie on Friday’s if you ever wanna stick around for his set?” 

Will tensed slightly but shook his head. Hanging out for Cherie’s sets during the week was one thing. Her voice wasn’t anything like Derek’s. But a man’s voice? Well. That could lead to too much fantasizing, and he was dead set on not letting himself get lost in a fantasy. Not anymore. Sarah had a baby on the way, and he wanted her little family to have the best life. 

Between the lobster boat and running ‘shine, Will was pulling in more money than he’d ever seen in his life. Tony, though he wasn’t the brightest, had a head for numbers that absolutely blew Will away, and they’d manage to sock away a good chunk of the money they’d earned because of it. 

Will pulled himself out of his thoughts and then shook his head. “Besides, Cherie just knows I’m a semi-regular from out of town. She doesn’t know I’m your supplier. And it’ll stay that way, you hear me?”

Johnson just chuckled and smiled, nodding. “Sure thing, Dex. Your secret is safe with me. Always. Your liquor is the reason this place stays afloat. Everything else tastes like swill, and doesn’t get you nearly as drunk.” 

Will just shrugged, smiling. “Maybe the people brewing that shit just haven’t needed to forget as much as a soldier has.” 

Johnson tipped his hat, sighing. “Ain’t that the truth?” He catalogued the moonshine before handing Will his cash and pushing him out. “Now go on, get. I know you’ve got other places to be in the next couple hours. Drive safe, son.” Will nodded his agreement and he slipped out quietly through the back, getting behind the wheel and heading towards Boston. 

He got into Boston way too early to make his delivery, so he pulled up to a large estate just out of town and parked his car in the garage, making sure the trunk was locked up before he used his spare key to slip in. He was exhausted, so the last thing he was expecting was to be tackled by a man 3 inches shorter than him and about 20 pounds lighter. He let out an ‘oof’, before laughing and pushing Byron Knight off of him. 

Byron had joined his sort of moonshine railroad after a run in at a small speakeasy on the other side of town, around the middle of 1920. At his side, had been a woman Will hadn’t expected to see again: Larissa Duan. The three of them slipped away to Byron’s family home--technically his home, since his parents had passed away--and what Will had taken to be a sort of catch up chat, turned into business. 

Soon enough, Byron had a small network of people that Will could stay with on his trips. Usually, he made them as fast as possible, trying to be in and out of town before he was too noticed, but sometimes, a pit stop had to be made, or an overnight stay had to happen. That was what the network was for. It had been Byron who suggested codenames. No one wanted to be the one who outed the whole network and got them sent to prison. Byron and Larissa were Shitty and Lardo, and Will was Dex, a name that he’d start using with his clients, for added safety. Beyond that, Will didn’t know the real names of anyone in the network. Holster was a big fella around Buffalo, New York. Big and loud and friendly. Chowder was a rail worker near Philadelphia, and while Dex wasn’t there often, he looked forward to those stops the most. Chowder was bright and energetic and impossible not to like. Foxtrot was a young black woman in New York City who ran a boarding house, and was honestly the best cover in their little network of bootleggers. Boarding houses saw people come and go at their leisure, without anyone every batting an eye. There was someone else, someone Shitty called Laurent, who was stationed up in Quebec, but Will rarely made deliveries over that way, so he hadn’t stayed with him yet. According to Shitty, that was a good thing too. Apparently the man spent half his time galavanting across the United States trying to find someone, though Shitty wouldn’t specify who. 

Will hadn’t realized how much it would change the game until one night, he was passing through Buffalo and he was dead on his feet, too tired to even think about driving. He looked at the bar owner, rubbing his face, asking in a soft voice. “You know anyone who goes by Holster?” From there, Will was given an address and even the 5 minute drive seemed too much for him. He was sure that having a place to crash that was free and nearby is what saved him from a fiery death that night. He made it a point to use the network more often. For his sisters’ sake. For Tony’s sake. 

Byron looked Will up and down, tilting his head and smiling. “You’re gaining weight, man. Looks good on you.” 

Will flushed softly, but shrugged. “Erin’s getting married soon. Said she wanted me to fill out a suit better than I did at Sarah’s wedding, to give her away.” 

Byron’s eyes lit up and he clapped Will firmly on the shoulder, smiling. “Congratulations. And Sarah’s due next month right? With the first. That’s a big deal, Uncle Will.” He winked, making Will roll his eyes. “You know where your room is, go on and crash, Larissa’s asleep, but I knew you were gonna be in town either tonight or tomorrow morning, so I figured I’d wait up a little. Glad I did. Now go on, get some sleep.” 

Will rolled his eyes but gave Byron a lazy salute. “Yes sir.” 

The next morning, Will rolled out of bed and wandered downstairs, accepting the cup of coffee that Byron handed him. Larissa wandered into the small kitchen, humming. “B, looks like we got a letter from De--” She was cut off by a loud cough from Byron and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Nursey’s in.” 

Bryon whooped, grinning. “I knew he’d want in!” 

Will raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Nursey…? So a friend of yours, I take it, Larissa?” Larissa chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah. Met during the war. Good people. Real good people.” 

That was all it took for Will to believe that, that whoever this Nursey was, he was good, reliable. Byron turned to Will, grinning. “And it works out best for you. Whenever Foxtrot’s place is too full to take you in for a night, Nursey is stationed in New York City. Has a little place he shares with a friend.” He tilted his head, turning to Larissa. “Did we decide on a nickname for the roommate yet?” Larissa just nodded, sighing as she ran her fingers through Byron’s hair. “Ransom.” “Right! Ransom! If Nursey’s in, then that means Ransom’s in it with him. He wouldn’t say yes otherwise.” 

Will just listened to them chat logistics as he drank his coffee. When he finished his cup, he yawned and stretched. “If you vouch for ‘em, then I trust ‘em. That’s all I need.” He really did trust the pair of them that much, that implicitly. Larissa had saved his life, kept him going when he was bedridden in a shitty military hospital, and Byron had helped laughter come easier, feel more natural. These two were the closest friends he had, and he was grateful for them. 

* * *

Derek wasn’t sure how he let himself get dragged into one of Byron’s schemes, but when the eccentric ex-soldier had asked him to open up his home to a select few bootleggers if they needed a place to crash, he had actually taken the time to consider it. He had moved out of his parents home just a year prior, so he wouldn’t be putting them at risk, but he had a roommate now. An old comrade in arms had moved down to the city and they had moved into a small one bedroom together. He was lucky that Justin Oluransi was not only trustworthy and brave, he was a fan of a good drink, so it hadn’t taken as much convincing as he had anticipated, to get him in on it. 

When he got a letter back from Byron, assigning them their codenames, it seemed to settle in and feel real. Derek was sure that the supplier for Samwell was part of Byron’s network, and he looked forward to the day he finally got to meet the infamous ‘Dex’. Man made the smoothest, cleanest drink he’d ever had, and that sort of thing deserved a firm handshake. 

While he waited to hear back about housing the bootlegger who supplied his favorite bar--he tended to call it home, more often than not--he settled into a routine. Teaching and grading during the week, and then on Friday night’s, he’d dress in his nicest suit and head down to Samwell. The first couple weeks were a little rough, his voice cracking, his nerves almost getting the better of him, but Denise, a wonderful woman who frequented the bar, kept pushing him forward, demanding to hear more of his smokey voice. 

It felt odd, to have his once smooth voice described as scratchy and smokey, but he learned to sing around it, learned to utilize it, and soon, his Friday night gig was the highlight of his week. It didn’t take long after that, that Johnson told him that Friday would be his permanent slot, even after Cherie came back. Derek didn’t stop smiling for days after that. 

As exciting as his life had become, he couldn’t help but be curious about the bootleggers in the network. How many of them were there? Was it just the mysterious Dex? And when would he get a chance to meet him? He wasn’t sure why he was so dead set on meeting a man he’d never even heard of until just recently, but there was a twisting in his gut that told him he had to.

He didn’t see hide nor hair of the man for months after he confirmed his entrance into The Network. It was the middle of summer, when he finally heard word from Shitty that they’d have a guest coming into their home, and Derek was  _ furious. _ The date scheduled was the first day of Derek’s stay with Shitty and Lardo during summer holidays. They had been planning this trip for months, having not seen each other for what felt like ages, and now of all times, the infamous Dex was going to be coming through. He let Ransom know the news, and passed on to Shitty, that they’d have a key under the mat, just in case Ransom was working late. 

Derek got to Byron and Larissa’s home late one night in July, a grin on his face as he hugged his friends tightly. In public, they kept space, kept everything as by the books as they could, but in private? Well. They were huggers, all of them. He tried to pry into who this ‘Dex’ was, but Byron and Larissa were firm on their policy. Derek wouldn’t know Dex’s real name, and Dex wouldn’t know Derek’s. It was safer that way. 

After that, the visit was everything Derek had hoped it would be. Fun, full of laughter and hope and joy. They filled each other in on their lives. Shitty and Larissa were living together, but people assumed Larissa was the maid, which she claimed to not mind. Derek nudged her when she shrugged, but didn’t press further. He told them both that he had been singing more. In front of a crowd even. His voice was crackly and rough, not nearly the smooth tenor he had been before the war, but he was doing it. It didn’t take long for Byron to start demanding a song, because how  _ dare _ Derek sing for others and not his friends! There was a great round of laughter before Derek worked his way through one of his comfort pieces, a song he couldn’t sing much at the bar, a shanty that Will had taught him. 

Larissa frowned when she heard the song, and tilted her head. Will had taught them the same song just a few weeks prior. Coincidence. It had to be coincidence. 

* * *

Will yawned as he stumbled up the four story walk up, trying to make as little noise as possible despite how exhausted he was. He reached under the mat, like he had been told to do by Byron, and pushed into the small apartment, locking the door behind him and setting the key down in the kitchen. There was a small cot in the corner, and he felt a smile stretch over his face. That was...nice. Really nice. He and Holster usually just shared a bed when he had to stay in Buffalo. He froze when he heard footsteps, only relaxing when he realized it must be the owner of the apartment. His eyes widened when the figure flipped on a light and he let out a short laugh. “Just--Ransom?” It was strict protocol to use nicknames during these stays, and he wouldn’t stray from that now. 

Ransom hadn’t been sure he’d even be home when Dex showed up, so he had left the key for him, but as it turned out, he was home, just asleep. When he heard the door shut and the deadbolt click into place, he had shot up and stumbled into the main room, in total shock when he flipped on the light. “Papa…” his voice was soft and he stumbled towards Dex, hugging him tightly. “Holy shit. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And you’re...you’re Dex?” He pulled away, laughing a bright grin on his face. “Man, it’s good to see you.” 

Will hugged him back, shaking a little. Tony and Larissa were the only two from the war he had kept any contact with, one because he was now his brother-in-law, and the other by pure random happenstance. But now, now Justin Oluransi--Ransom--was here, alive and well. “Shit, I wish I wasn’t so damn tired, I’d talk more.” He laughed a little and pulled out a letter from his pocket. “I wasn’t expecting to run into my hosts, so I was just gonna leave this.” The letter had the return address to a small office that he rented in town, the place where all of his mail from this venture ended up. Ransom took the letter and shook his head. “I’ll pass it on to my roommate. He was the one who dragged me into this. A friend of Shitty’s and Lardo’s. He’ll appreciate the thought.” Will just nodded, before excusing himself to go to sleep, passing out on the small cot and sleeping soundly, dreams filled with warm skin, green eyes and a smooth voice, singing him to peace. 

* * *

Derek got home midafternoon a few days later, a grin on his face and a song in his heart. He sat down, without even saying hello to Justin, and he wrote, only looking up when he had a solid draft written. His face got hot and he shrugged. Justin just shook his head, his voice soft. “It’s just good to see you writing again. See you more like your old self.” Derek just snorted. “You didn’t know me before the war, Justin. You didn’t know my old self. But...thanks. It feels good to want to write again.” Justin just nodded, understanding a little, how easy it was to lose yourself and the things you loved to the darkness in your head. “Oh! Almost forgot. Someone left a letter for you.” He winked, chuckling softly. “Dex was here, wrote a letter in case he didn’t see us, and because I was here, I took the letter on your behalf.” He winked at him before setting the letter down and walking away. 

He figured that if anyone knew who Dex really was, it had to be Derek. The two of them had been as close as two men in different companies could be. Still, he wouldn’t press the topic, knowing how important privacy was to everyone in The Network. If this was a way for Derek and Will to flirt, without getting caught, while maintaining privacy, then he respected that, and he’d let them dance around each other as long as they wanted. 

Derek read through the letter, something about the handwriting stirring a memory, but he didn’t linger too long on it, instead, he sat down and he wrote back. It was unorthodox, sure, but not against the rules. And besides, it’s not like they were going to talk about anything illegal. Dex’s letter was just thanking him for opening up his home. Derek was just going to write back and tell him how much he appreciated all the work he did. He signed off the letter “PFC Nursey of The Network” as a little joke to himself, and then slipped the letter, and, without a second thought, a few lines of poetry, grinning the whole way to the post office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys, the outpouring (okay like two people, but that's an outpouring for me) of support and love for this fic has been overwhelming. I swear, y'all are the sweetest! Kudos and Comments mean the world to me! Stay safe!


	7. Letters as a Gateway to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters. Lots of Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers for this chapter, enjoy!

Dex, 

I was sorry to miss you on this trip out to our great city. Ransom said that you were a model guest, and we appreciate that. Hope you stayed cool enough. I know, it gets hot in there. Hope you drove home safely. Say hi to the wife and kids for us. 

Your pal, 

Nursey 

* * *

Derek chuckled as he posted the letter to the address that was scrawled on the top corner of the envelope. His own return address was printed, sans name, and he hoped that the short letter wasn’t out of place. He figured it was a way to keep The Network connected. He knew everyone except Foxtrot and Holster already, and apparently Ransom knew Holster pretty well, so he figured he’d send a letter and get to know Dex a little, see if he wanted to know as much as Derek did. And if the letters ever were intercepted, they’d be innocent little notes about friends and home. Nothing suspicious for cops to be real worried about. 

Will was out in the back yard when Tony brought back the mail from the small office they rented, where all of their work correspondence went. Tony called him inside and handed him a small letter, the return address familiar enough to give pause. He chuckled softly when he opened it, unable to stop the smile that crossed his face. 

“It’s nothing to worry about. Just someone in The Network. It’s fine.” Tony glanced at the letter, and then at one of Will’s rare smiles and he raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “Sure it is. Whatever you say, papa.” He smiled and then left Will, going to find his wife, elsewhere in the house. 

* * *

Nursey, 

I was surprised to get a letter, to say the least. That was kind of you. And it was kind of you to offer me a space to stay while I was visiting. New York is a great city, and I hope I get to spend more time there, see more people. And I’ll catch you the next time I’m in town. 

Dex

* * *

Derek hummed softly as he checked the mail, his head bopping slightly. Singing at Samwell had been the best damned decision he had ever made. Even though it was only one night a week, it was like he had found his voice again. Was it the same as it was before the war? No. Of course not. But it was still  _ his  _ and it meant the world to him to have it back. In fact, it had only been a few days ago that he had been singing softly under his breath on the fire escape and had looked up, only to find Justin in tears. He had slid back into their apartment, and put his hands on Justin’s shoulders, demanding that his friend tell him what was wrong. Justin had just shook his head, rubbed his eyes and laughed. “No, no I’m fine. It’s fine. You just...that’s one of the songs you used to sing. Back then.” 

Derek was shocked, pausing to really think about what that meant. He still had nightmares. Still struggled with loud noises. He still spent so much of his time deeply within his own head. But...He was laughing more. Smiling more. He was spending more time with Justin, even if it was quiet. He was actively  _ singing again.  _ Something he thought he’d never do again. Maybe there was a way out of this that wasn’t just death. Maybe there was a light at the end of all of it. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his eyes when he realized that he was crying too and he reached out, hugging his friend tightly. “Yeah. Yeah I guess I’m just feeling...more hopeful lately.” Justin looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but he smiled. “Yeah, I get it. Makes sense.” 

The conversation had ended there, but as Derek flicked through the mail, happy to find another letter, he realized that things truly were feeling more normal. He had friends, a couple of jobs--though one  _ was  _ technically illegal--and his family was still in good health. Things were looking up.

* * *

Dex, 

Well, I hope that you do catch me next time you’re here. I don’t really travel much. Too expensive these days, but I’ve got friends in weird places, you know? I’m glad I was able to surprise you with a letter back. I’m a fan of letter writing. There’s something about it that just goes deeper than verbal communication. When you write something down, you’re able to say exactly what you mean, phrase it just so, so that the person expecting the letter knows exactly what you mean, but someone who intercepts it may not. 

Anyway. I just like writing letters. I wrote them all the time during the war. Entirely to my family, sure, but it made me feel like I could get through it. 

I hear crops are supposed to be good this fall? Is that so? I look forward to your upcoming yield, you know? 

Keep writing to me?    
Nursey 

* * *

Will laughed at the euphemism. It wasn’t even a good one, really. Crops referred to the corn, more than likely, but still, it was clever enough to warrant a response.

His sister, Sarah, watched in wonder as her brother walked to his small office, with a true, genuine smile on his face. 

* * *

Nursey, 

Crops are looking exceptional this year. I’m glad you’re looking forward to it and I hope I don’t disappoint. 

Can’t lie to ya, I was shocked to get another letter from you. But it’s welcome. Letters were the second best thing about the war. Hearing from family, getting to connect back to them. The best thing was sharing songs. Lots of guys from around the world ya know? All mixed together. Brits, Frenchies, Canadians. Some Americans. It was like we all took a little part of each other’s homes every time we shared. I’ve got some acquaintances who served with different units and they say it was the same for them. Sharing stories and songs when they could. 

Couldn’t pay me to go back. 

So you’ve got two jobs, huh? Supporting a family then? 

Dex

* * *

Derek snorted softly at the suggestion of a family in Dex’s last letter, the snort turning into a full on laugh attack, a bright grin lighting up his face the rest of the day. 

* * *

Dexy-kins, 

Only family I’m supporting are my parents and myself. Never got married. Realized that there aren’t a ton of women who want a (mildly) disfigured war vet who can’t sleep through the night. Not that I’m complaining. Besides, who could support a wife and kids on a teacher’s salary? Not even white folks can do that. And the other job is just a once a week kind of deal. I do some singing at a restaurant Friday nights. Pays alright, but again, not exactly the kind of work you wanna do with a wife and kids. 

So what about you? Farming supporting the family? Not like you seem the type to have the whole white picket fence thing, but hey, I’ve seen weirder. 

Stay safe out there, alright? And send me one of those songs sometime if you remember them. I like having a collection of songs from around the world. 

Nursey 

* * *

Nursey, 

Don’t ever call me that again. 

As for a song, I’ll try and think of something good I can send to you. Something uplifting.

My folks passed. Influenza. My first sister, the second oldest, got married to a good kid from my unit a little while back. My middle sister is getting married soon too. Both being taken care of by good men. The youngest is a little ways off from marriage, but we’re all able to take care of her together. It works out alright. Getting by. Family owned the house, and we’ve got a fishing boat that we run too. Got a small crew together keeping it going. 

So how’s New York? Seems awfully loud every time I visit. Not sure how you manage to sleep. 

Dex

P.S. I attached a song my first sister loved when she was younger. Hope you enjoy 

* * *

Every letter brought a smile to Derek’s face, and every reply made him laugh, and wrack his brain, trying to come up with something clever to say back, though usually, his replies were fairly standard. Writing letters to Dex was fun. It was creative, and though every detail about himself in his letters were true, he still felt like he was playing a character, and that was a little freeing. Not having to be Derek Nurse, disfigured war vet, struggling to smile again, was suddenly Derek Nurse, disfigured war vet, who can make a joke about it and move on. Everyone had noticed the shift in his attitude, too. His parents noticed how easy his smiles came these days, not like before, but still, easier, more genuine. Justin noticed how much more he seemed to sing. And patrons at Samwell were getting a better variety of music from him. This wasn’t at all how he imagined his life, but it wasn’t the worst, not by a long shot. 

* * *

Erin watched her brother from the kitchen window, as he played with their younger sister, light in her heart. Sarah was pregnant, and the thought of getting to watch him play with his nephew brought the same joy. Will had been different after the war. Sure, it made sense, Mama and Pa had explained what war did to people, that when Will came back he may be a little different. A little quieter, but it hadn’t made sense to her then, the way it did now. Because comparing the Will of today with the Will that had come back? They were different people. Her brother actually smiled now. He was gaining weight and muscle back, eating meals with his family. Sure, she didn’t totally agree with his business. It was risky, running that liquor down to the states like that, but Sarah told her that it made him happy, and that it was safe. Her Tony was helping to brew the stuff, and that was just as dangerous, so Erin backed off. Her husband was just a deckhand, not a soldier or anything like that, but he was a good man. He helped load up Will’s truck every time he needed to make a run, and he was there when Will got back to do repairs on it. Their family had shattered, when Will left for the war and then again when their parents had died, but here he was, putting their little family back together again.

Sarah walked into the kitchen, holding the mail and smiling, shouting through the open window. “William! Got a letter with a New York return address. I think this is your girlfriend!” She giggled, clearly teasing, but Will ripped in from the backyard, grabbing the letter from Sarah, a dark blush crawling up his neck. “Not my girlfriend. And don’t read my mail.” He huffed, but a small smile crept onto his face as he looked at the handwriting. 

“How were things down at the office?” He looked up at her, eyebrow raised. Sarah shrugged. “Same ol’, same ol’. Just wanted to see if there were any new orders or if there was any other mail, and there was.” She smiled, resting a hand on her belly, humming softly. “That order for Samwell is ready to go when you are, Will. Already got you set up with Shitty in his family’s second home.” She rolled her eyes, smiling a little. “I swear, that man should just buy safe houses instead of having all these other people involved--” Will cut her off, shaking his head. “Having too many properties would shine a light right on him. The Network is invaluable, alright? As far as the Samwell order goes? I’ll head out in a couple days. There’s an order for another club in that area, should be done soon. I’ll leave Friday with just enough time to make it for the nightly delivery.” 

Sarah just shrugged, “Whatever’s safest. I just wanna make sure you come home to us. We just got you back, Billy.” Her voice was soft and Will felt his heart twist in his chest. He reached out and tugged her to his chest, hugging her tight. “I promise. I’ll always come back.” 

* * *

Derek hummed softly as he sat in the back of the bar, drink in hand, Jack at his side, the two of them laughing. Jack was in town for a rare visit, an even rarer smile on his face. “So you find your boy?” The regular crowd was all milling about Samwell, so Derek didn’t have to lower his voice, didn’t have to hide a thing, and it was so fucking liberating. 

Jack smiled and he nodded once. “Yeah, I did. Turns out he had left Georgia and the small town where we met. Moved up north. First to Pittsburgh, then to New York, and now he’s in Boston. I’m trying to convince him to move to Canada, but things get tricky when immigration gets involved.” He snorted into his water, shaking his head, the smile never leaving his face. 

Derek patted his shoulder, sighing. “I’m really happy for you. That you’ve found him. That you two are back in contact. You look good. Really good.” 

Jack just smiled, nodding, “I appreciate that. You’re looking good too. Better. Did you…?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing around the bar. Derek just shook his head and laughed. “No, no one here. Not even sure I can say I really met him. He’s just...someone I accidentally started exchanging letters with. It’s a long story. And really, it’s nothing. But it’s...nice. It’s good.” Jack just smiled and nodded, leaving it at that. 

As Derek relaxed back, listening to the silky smooth voice croon over the speakers, Johnson came up, sliding into a chair next to him. “Listen, Saturday night, our supplier is gonna come in and join us alright? It’s unusual for him, but he’s good people. I trust him. I want you singing Saturday night, got it?” Derek looked at Johnson, in shock, eyes wide, before he nodded slowly. “Saturday night...right. I can do that. Not a problem.” He laughed a little, still shocked as Johnson walked away. He was going to sing Saturday night, he was going to sing for Dex for the first time, even if he wouldn’t know which one Dex was, and he knew just which song he was going to include on his setlist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I start work again next week (I quit my job and moved in with my folks about a month ago). That means updates may slow back down again, and I do apologize. But I'll do my best to write a little every night so I can keep getting this stuff out to you. Sorry about the shorter chapter, this one just felt like a good way to show our boys reconnecting (while not knowing they were reconnecting) and set up another near miss. Or is it? Anyway, thank you for the comments and the kudos, they seriously mean the world to me. Hope you enjoyed, and please, stay safe out there. Wear your masks, wash your hands, and if you're able to safely, hug your loved ones tight.


	8. The Long Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it goes, but not how they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.

Will never stopped thinking about the war, not really. Even all these years later, screams and gunfire rang in his head, with a soft, sweet tenor voice woven through his memories. As often as he thought about the war, he latched onto that voice, latched onto the memory of the person attached to it. He remembered the first time he had met Derek Nurse, both of them filthy, exhausted, hauling a heavy as hell Canadian soldier to the medics. There had been something about Derek that had made his stomach tighten and his heart flip, and the more time he spent getting to know him, or hearing about him, the more he attributed all that to feeling protective. He was a big brother after all, and there was a softness to Derek that reminded him of his sisters. 

That’s what he used to tell himself, anyway. 

Until the memory of Derek’s voice started to conjure his image. Until Derek’s image started to bring his smile with it. Until the smile brought a laugh, and the laugh brought a kiss. The first night he dreamt of a kiss, he woke up, covered in a cold sweat, heart racing, cock hard, and shame swelling in his chest. He thought that he had a handle on his oddness. He thought that he had it under control. Apparently not. He kept it close to his chest though, never letting his family know, never giving them reason to worry. He’d already lost so much. He couldn’t risk losing his family over something like this, something like lust. And that’s all it was. Lust. That’s all it could be. 

Then Nursey came into his life, letters blazing, making him laugh, making him smile. Making him more and more eager for his next run down to New York. And that was dangerous. Beyond dangerous. The way each letter made his heart jump, the way he waited, with bated breath, for each and every letter to come to the office. It was more dangerous than going to war. Having homosexual feelings was fine, as long as you didn’t act on them. As long as you married a woman and settled down with some kids, it was fine. But Will had never dreamed like that. He had never dreamed of a wife and kids, coming home to dinner every day. Instead, he had dreamed of romps in the meadows near his home, racing back to their small cottage by the shore, cooking together, laughing, telling stories, something that seemed so much more like friendship than a marriage. It was seeing the way Tony was with Sarah that made him reconsider what a marriage was. What it could be. What he wanted it to be. 

Whenever he closed his eyes and imagined his future spouse, it wasn’t a stranger’s face looking up at him, it was Derek’s. It was a pill he wasn’t sure he could swallow just yet. 

He laid in bed, eyes wide open a few nights before his next Samwell trip. He knew he was good to go in Byron’s second home, he had a key and everything, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging desire to stay with someone in The Network. A specific someone. Nursey. 

Just like that, guilt twisted in his gut and he tried to shake the thoughts away, turning from his back onto his side, shutting his eyes tight and whispering a soft prayer to God. 

The thing he felt the guiltiest about was that his guilt had nothing to do with his sin, but because he felt disloyal. He felt like he was betraying a man he had known only in the trenches, and that didn’t make a lick of sense. 

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense to him. The feelings, the thoughts, the confusion. Not a single bit of it made sense to him. The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded his upcoming trip down to New York, to Samwell. He didn’t have enough time to sort out these feelings, this oddness. He’d just have to be careful this trip, just have to avoid the club. Drop the liquor and run, stop at Shitty’s empty New York home as a stopover. He tamped down the nasty guilty feeling that came with that thought. He had told Nursey he was going to be in town. He’d even requested a song for the man to sing the night he was due at the club. He was in deep. Too deep, and he had no idea how to climb out. 

* * *

Sarah had always known her brother was different. It wasn’t just because of his quiet demeanor, or his superhuman work ethic, or how he managed to make their younger siblings smile and laugh, even when he felt like his world was ending. There was something else about him. Something odd. 

She had recognized it when they were children, just two years apart in age, so close all things considered. Will seemed to spend more time with her, reading, than with the boys his own age, chasing girls and going to dance halls. While she had been fighting their parents to go to dances, Will had ignored them altogether, only going when their parents said he had to escort his younger sister. 

The letter she received, months after he returned home, detailing his death, his bravery, his honor, that had sealed the deal in her mind. It hadn’t just been a letter informing her of her brother’s untimely demise. It had been a love letter. 

Private First Class Derek Nurse, had written her big brother a love letter. 

Now, Sarah Poindexter-Tangredi wasn’t a master of love, wasn’t as well versed in it as others her age, but she knew a love letter when she saw it, and it was unsettling. It was a hard thing to wrap her mind around, someone, a man, writing a love letter to her brother. She had burned it as soon as the thoughts had settled, wanting to erase any evidence of something like that, something that could take her brother away from her and their family. Still, she thought about it often. Did Will love the man who wrote the letter? Did he know that the man was alive? And later, the questions became more focused. Was that why he enjoyed running that liquor down to New York so much? All questions she’d never ask him. She loved her brother, she didn’t care who he loved, how he loved. She really didn’t. But she could not, would not lose him. 

Then the letters from that man in the Network started coming to the office. That was what finally sealed the deal, in her mind. No one would spend hours pouring over letters like that, unless they were written by someone you cared about. So maybe Will didn’t know that this Derek Nurse fellow was alive, maybe he had moved on, she didn’t know. What she did know, was that the man her brother had been before the war, was shimmering right below the surface, and that hadn’t happened in years. So she didn’t pry, she didn’t push, she didn’t do anything, save for expressing her concern about running the booze. That was all she had the right to do, until Will decided to bring up the man he was writing to. 

She sighed as she watched him pack up the truck the night before the trip, hand on her large stomach, lips set in a frown. Will glanced at her as he locked everything up and he raised an eyebrow. “What are you giving me that look for?” Sarah shook her head, shrugging. “Don’t know what look you’re talking about, Billy.” His face softened and he smiled a little, walking up to her and pulling her into a tight hug. She never called him Billy anymore. “I’ll be safe, Sarah. I always am okay? Always.” 

That night, as she lay in bed with her husband, she reached for him, tangling their fingers together. Tony yawned, rolling onto his side and looking at his wife, smiling. “You’re sleeping my kinda way tonight, Sarah. What’s on your mind?” His voice was soft and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he brought his hand up to rest on her belly. 

Sarah sighed softly and she looked at her husband, her hand resting on top of his, smiling softly when they both felt a small kick. “Tell me what you know about Derek Nurse.” Her voice was gentle, her fingers lacing with her husband’s. “I heard you mention something about Nurse to Will once, when I first introduced you two. And I think it’s important I know more about him.”

Tony looked at his wife, his brow furrowed, but he nodded. He told her what he knew, about Derek’s singing, about the life that he brought to the trenches wherever they were. That just as Will’s presence made him feel safe and protected, Derek’s presence made him feel hopeful. Sarah listened closely, and when Tony was done, she sighed, biting her lip. “And what was he to my brother, Tony?” Even in the dark, she could see his startled expression and she sighed. “I just mean...well. I remember the day you told him about that company. The No. 2? And you mentioned his name, Nurse, I mean. And There was a moment that Will looked so hopeful and bright and then the No. 2 was gone and it was like all the wind had been pulled from his sails.” 

Tony thought about her question before shrugging, his voice soft, almost small. “People find what they need in weird ways, Sarah. And Pops needed hope, just as much as the rest of us. Derek gave him that.” She didn’t push further, but she thought about that. Thought about how Derek Nurse must’ve given her brother some sort of hope. And about how her brother had given him a sense of safety. Even if she had never guessed the letter detailing her brother's “death” to be a love letter, it was still clear that Derek admired him, felt safe around him. 

“Tony?” Her partner gave a soft “hm” and she bit her lip, squeezing his hand. “I think Derek Nurse is alive.” 

Tony shot up, eyes wide. “What the hell do you mean you think he’s alive, Sarah? Listen, I’m sure there are a lot of colored fellas who sing real nice that were in the war. Don’t go making crazy claims like that.” 

“I’m not making any sorta claims, Tony! I got a letter from him! After the war! He was telling me about how brave Will was. About how he died protecting people. And when I read that letter, I could see my big brother clear as day out in the yard, playing with our sisters. He looked sort of like himself that day, for the first time since our parents had died. I wasn’t about to go and shake things up!” 

Tony just looked at her, sitting up slowly and rubbing his face, sighing softly. “He was my friend too. You didn’t know that, you couldn’t know that, but between him and Pops? It was like I was safe. Like maybe I could make it home in one piece.” 

Sarah sat up slowly and pulled her husband into a hug, sighing. “I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t know.” She pressed a kiss to his head before she leaned back, finding his hand and squeezing it. “So what happens now? I’ve gotta tell him. I’ve kept it from him for too long. I feel awful, honestly. It never really sat right with me, keeping the letter from him.” She trailed off, laying back in bed, hand on her stomach. Tony sighed, curling around her and kissing her shoulder. “Let him get through this run okay? And then we’ll tell him. Together.”

* * *

Derek was a ball of nerves and anxiety the night before Dex was due down in New York for a delivery. It was crazy. All of this was absolutely fucking crazy, and he knew that, but somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Maybe it was the time he had spent at Samwell that had desensitized him to that sort of thing. That sort of queerness. 

He turned over onto his side and curled up a little, huffing softly, rubbing his eyes roughly, trying to take deep breaths. This was stupid. Getting so caught up on all of this. Dex wasn’t flirting with him, he was imagining things. Dex wasn’t flirting with him, and the affection he felt towards Will, a dead man, came from wartime pressures. They were both single men surrounded by soldiers with sweethearts. Derek clung to the closest person he could find, that was all. 

That’s what he told himself, anyway. 

Dex, or the idea of him at least, brought him the same sense of comfort that Will’s had, different only in the fact that Derek had actually met Will, he actually knew him beyond the pages of a letter. 

He didn’t really sleep that much that night. Too caught up in his own anxieties to relax and rest. He managed to get through the day alright, without his students noticing how exhausted he was. As soon as school was out, he made the mad dash home and managed to crash for just over an hour. He woke up somewhat refreshed and relaxed enough to get through his set at Samwell at least, and hopefully meet Dex for the first time.   
He had a set all prepared, a few songs from the war, a few requests that had peppered in through the weeks, and then a special song that Dex had sent him in one of their earlier letters, one that he knew Dex would recognize. It would be how he introduced himself, formally, to the man he had been writing letters too for all these months. He was excited, nervous, ready. 

He got to Samwell a little early, took the drink that Johnson offered him, and ignored the pitying look on the man’s face as he shot it back. Johnson was an odd duck, always seeming to know stuff he shouldn’t, and if Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say that the man was a witch. Hell, maybe he didn’t know better. It was altogether possible that the man was some sort of fortune teller or magician, anything was possible at Samwell. He was here, afterall, singing again, after years of silence. 

As he always did, he started his set off slow, started it with something nice to ease the clientele and then band into the evening, before he transitioned into the faster, jazzier stuff. It was fun, some of the most fun he’d had in a long time to be honest, and as he scanned the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice a few new faces. Any single one of those could be Dex. Any. Single. One. 

He finished off the evening with the song Dex had sent him, taking his leave after a long, dramatic bow, laughing as people clapped his back. He slid onto a bar stool, taking the offered water and chugging it down before he finally spoke, voice a little hoarse after an evening of singing. 

“So, which one of these new faces is Dex, hm? You said he was gonna be here tonight, right?” Johnson just sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry kid. I got word from his operation that he got a late start. Something about the weather up in Nova Scotia or some place. I don’t know.” The mention of Nova Scotia made Derek’s brow furrow slightly, but he ignored the tug on his heart and the way his stomach dropped. “So he won’t be here tonight. Got it. No big deal, it was fun, singing tonight, getting to perform like this. And the extra cash is always great.” He shrugged, looking at his water glass and sighing. Dex couldn’t control the weather, it wasn’t his fault, and Johnson said as much.   
“This just means you’ll get to perform on another weekend when he’s here. How about that, Nurse?” Derek just smiled and nodded. “Sure. Yeah. That sounds great, you know? Love getting to be up there, so any day you let me, I’ll take it.” 

He finished off the water and stood. “I’m out for the night, unless you need help locking up?” Johnson just shook his head, “Nah, head home. Though you may wanna find somewhere else to stay. Your roommate looks real cozy with that tall blond fella.” Derek’s eyes saw the pair, shoulder to shoulder, and his eyes widened. He had no idea that Justin was like him, no idea that he had a  _ partner. _ Or, well, at least a partner for the night. “I’ll stay at Shitty’s. The Network’s gotta be good for something you know?”

He said his goodbyes before he made the short journey to Shitty’s New York home. He was a little surprised when he saw lights on inside, usually Shitty told him when he was stopping by, but maybe it had just slipped his mind tonight. Derek just shrugged it off and used his key to get in, sighing a little as he made his way to the kitchen, where the light was coming from. 

“He didn’t even fucking show up tonight, Byron. I swear to god, I’m so mad at myself for getting my hopes up.” He huffed as he wandered down the long hall. “Apparently there’s weather up in Nova Scotia? Anyway…” he trailed off, frowning a little when he stepped into the kitchen and saw a thick, muscled arm holding a cupboard door open. That wasn’t Byron’s arm. He stood there, frozen in place, as the door shut, and he saw a mane of red hair and constellations on a face he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. “Will?” His mouth was dry and his head was spinning, and the world went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I am...SO SORRY. Y'all should really be thanking the folks who commented on this fic like...last week? Idk. Because they're the reason this chapter got posted. It's a touch rushed, and I wrote most of it back in July. But uhhhhh, I like it.


	9. A Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconnecting, relearning, changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick warning for vague PTSD nightmares, talks of scars, and mentions of segregation.

Will couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe at all. He had been shot, seen his friends die, watched his parents die slowly, painfully, and this was the first time that he felt that he truly couldn’t breathe. Derek was here. He was here and so... _alive._ His head was spinning and his chest was tight, and then he was moving forward, rushing to try and catch Derek as he crumpled to the floor. He fell to his knees, managing to at least cushion his head before it bounced against the hardwood floor. 

He sat there, in shock, awe, confusion, as he stared at the man he had believed to be dead. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d seen him last? Four years? Five? He wasn’t sure and at this point the only thing that was really important was that Derek Nurse was here, alive, scarred, but alive. He sat there for a minute, just looking at him, unable to stop himself from taking in his appearance for the first time in however long. The tiny fleck of gray that was starting to come in at his temples, the straight line of his nose, the strength of his jaw, how his whole body seemed leaner, not unhealthy, but it didn’t carry the same bulk that it had back in the trenches. And then he looked at the scars, so different from his own, so much harder to hide. The scars on his neck were both taught and wrinkled, in the way that only burn scars were. Fuck. He turned away, blinking rapidly as tears burned behind his eyes. His heart ached, and he cursed himself for not being able to defend Derek better. He tried to shake that thought away, tried not to linger on it too long, and instead focused on how he was going to get Derek up and laying on something more comfortable than the floor. 

It took some effort, but he managed to get him up and over to a couch in the next room, a blanket draped over him for good measure. He looked at him for severa long moments, eyes softening, before he went back to the kitchen and started pacing, hands fisting in his hair, heart thumping in his chest. The feelings that had been wrestling around in his heart, that had kept him up at night, that he _thought_ he had managed to push to the back of his mind forced their way to the front, screaming at him. The way he had rushed to Derek’s side wasn’t a display of brotherly affection, the way he had worried about cushioning his head and taking in his strong, but almost delicate features. This was how he imagined his father felt about his mother. This is how he imagined Tony felt about his sister. This was...something deeper. And it didn’t make any fucking sense to him. He didn’t know Derek. Not really. Not the same way that his father had known his mother. Not the same way that Tony and Sarah knew each other. He knew the soldier, the singer, not the man outside of the war. But he did. They had written to each other, albeit unknowingly, but they had. He knew that Derek loved to learn about anything. Music, languages, people, their lives and culture. He had seen that whenever their battalions had crossed paths. He knew that Nursey, Derek, was a teacher, and a singer, he knew that he was kind and passionate. He took a deep breath and leaned against the counter, trying to steady his train of thought. It was too soon to be worrying about that, to be worrying about how he felt about Derek when the man was passed out on a couch. The only thing he needed to be worrying about was the conversation they’d have when Derek woke up. 

Derek was, well, saying that he was confused would be putting it lightly. He had written a letter to Will’s family announcing his death and had never heard back. He had _told them that their son was dead._ Oh god. He sat up slowly, groaning as his head spun a little and he sighed, taking slow, deep breaths like Larissa had taught him. When he felt steady again, he stood, rubbing his face. Maybe this had been a dream, maybe he was crazy, yeah, that’s it, he was crazy. There was no way he had walked into Byron’s home and seen Will standing there. No way in hell. His brow furrowed as he rubbed his face, finally standing. He had been in the kitchen when he saw whatever it was that he saw. How had he ended up on the davenport? He heard soft clanging in the kitchen and he made his way there, having a sudden sense of deja vu. And as he stood in the doorway, looking at the redheaded man he had been told was dead, that sense of deja vu washed over him all over again. 

* * *

“Will?” 

The redhead jumped, clutching his chest as he took a deep breath. “You alright, Nurse? You took quite the spill earlier.” He sounded so calm, so even. Too calm, really. Derek didn’t give himself time to think, and instead, just walked over to him and pulled him into a tight, firm, hug, pressing his face into his shoulder. “I thought you were dead, Poindexter. I thought you were fucking...gone.” His voice was raspier than Will remembered, tighter too. But he understood that tightness, that overwhelming urge to both sob and keep the tears at bay. Will hugged him back, hesitantly at first, before his arms tightened and he squeezed him as tight as he could without hurting him. 

When they pulled back, Derek shoved him, his brows drawing together. “Why the hell didn’t you write back to me, Will? I wrote your family a fucking condolence letter! I told them you _died!”_ Will frowned, shaking his head. “What the hell are you talking about, Nurse? You didn’t write to my family. I didn’t see or hear about any letter telling folks I was dead. And for the record, I didn’t get anything back from you either” Derek shook his head, rubbing his face. “I know I wrote to your family. I know I sent it to the right place. I did! And I would’ve written back to you if I had seen your letter. There’s no way I would’ve just...left it hanging.” Will’s chest felt tight and he clenched his jaw. “Whatever happened, we tried to send letters, tried to tell the other we were alive and it didn’t work out. It’s fucking...it’s fine, Nurse. It is how it is. What matters is now, right?” Derek looked at him, seeming to get some sort of handle on himself before he nodded, patting his arm firmy. “All that matters is now, huh, Dex?” A mischievous glint overshadowed the pain in his eyes and he nudged him. Will snorted, leaning against the counter, eyebrow raised. “Uh huh, sure is, Nursey.” His eyes softened slightly. “You did something with that voice of yours. I’m happy for you.” Derek’s face felt hot and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Took some time getting there. Voice isn’t what it used to be, but it feels good to be singing for folks. Sharing songs.” 

Will studied him, his heart aching in a funny way and he huffed softly. “I’m sorry. That I missed tonight. I really did mean to come, you know? I’m a man of my word. But there was a storm rolling in and I had to make sure that boats were tied down in the shipyard. Haven’t done any real sailing in years but I’ve still got buddies down there who feed their families with that work.” Derek just held up his hand, shaking his head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain to me. You did the right thing. I’m honestly shocked you still made the drive. You didn’t get caught up in any weather yourself now, did you?” Will snorted, shaking his head. “Nothing I can’t deal with.” 

Derek took a moment to look at him, really look at him, as Will talked, talking about the drive down. He looked tired, but not in the same way he had during the war. No, this was depper, in his bones, sewn into the very fiber of who he was now. It was a look that Derek knew all too well, he saw it in himself every time he looked in the mirror, saw it in Justin whenever they were lucky enough to cross paths in their small apartment. Beyond that, he looked much the same, a few more lines on his forehead, around his eyes and mouth. Smile lines, thought lines. The idea of Will smiling made Derek’s heart warm, and he hoped that his life back home was good, safe. 

“...and Tangredi up and married my sister, can you believe it?” 

Derek was pulled from his thoughts, and his eyes widened. “Tony’s still alive? He made it home? And...he married your sister?” He laughed, rubbing his face, eyes bright. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking glad he made it back in one piece.” Will winced slightly, giving Derek pause. “I wouldn’t say one piece, but he’s alive. Came home without a leg.” His voice was rough and he ran a hand through his hair, huffing. Derek winced slightly and he sighed, “At least he’s alive. And he’s good to your sister?” Will just nodded, eyes softening. “He was the one who broke the news that you were gone. Or that. We thought you were gone, I guess. Shit. He’s gonna be so fucking happy that you’re alive. Probably going to ask to come on the next run.” Derek just laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t bring him. Someone’s gotta keep shit going back up in Canada, yeah? But..” he bit his lip, leaning back slightly. “I could come up to Nova Scotia sometime during the summer. I’m sure I can get a weekend off from Samwell.” He was already thinking about how he could make it work, how he could afford the trip to and from Nova Scotia. Fuck, he was gone on this man. Gone on a memory and a feeling that had formed during war, when nothing was certain, when it was less dangerous to love so freely. 

Will couldn’t help the way his heart tightened with joy when Derek mentioned coming to see him, coming to visit, and he had to laugh. “See if you can get two weekends and you can come back with me at the tail end of a run and I’ll bring you back with my new batch.” He grew up poor, he knew that being out of work for two weeks may be asking too much, but if he was helping get Derek in and out of the country, maybe that would ease some of the burden. 

Derek felt his face get hot again and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “As much as I’d love that, and I really would, I’m afraid I’d put a target on your back, Will. You’re less likely to get pulled over with just you in the car. Don’t worry, I can afford a train, it’s not a hardship. But I appreciate it, Will. Really.” He yawned softly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m exhausted, it’s been a long day.” Will laughed, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah I understand. I’m gonna be hanging out tomorrow until I can unload at Samwell so maybe…” “Yes. Yeah. Yes. To whatever you were going to ask.” Derek jumped in without even thinking. Will grinned, “then I’ll see you tomorrow? To show me around your city?” Derek nodded, laughing a little. “I mean. You’ll probably see me in the morning too. Crashing here tonight. My roommate Just--Ransom--picked someone up tonight, so I’m giving them some space.” He shrugged, standing and stretching, his back popping. “Goodnight, Will.” His voice was soft and he reached out, pulling the man into another hug, calm washing through him. Will was stiff for a moment as Derek hugged him tight, before he wrapped his arms around the other man and hugged him back tightly. He could feel his eyes burning again and he slowly pulled back. “I’m glad you’re alive, Derek. So fucking glad.” he coughed, rubbing at his eyes. “Night. Try and sleep well.” Derek nodded, standing and stretching. “You too, Will. Sleep well.” His voice was soft as the pair made their way to up to the numerous guest rooms in the Knight house and went to bed.  
  


* * *

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours later when Derek was jolted from sleep to the sounds of shouts and cries. He jumped from his bed, only taking the time to slide his pants on before he was across the hall, in Will’s room. He steadied the thrashing man, pinning him down and shaking him just a little, his voice raised. “Will! Sargent Poindexter!” It took another shake before Will was thrashing awake, trying to jerk out of Derek’s grasp. Derek leaned back and sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Bad night, huh?” His voice was soft and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His own nightmares were jarring, but it was almost more jarring seeing someone else have them. Is that what he looked like as he thrashed in his sleep? Was that what his parents had been faced with when he had first come home? Having to deal with that? His hand found the pendant on his neck and he fiddled with it, as Will came back to himself. 

He took another few breaths, slow and deep, before he spoke again. “It’s not like I’m even dreaming about my own shit, you know? It’s always...always the screams of the people I couldn’t get to soon enough. My kid sisters crying out for help as they breath in mustard gas. Shit like that.” Tonight’s had been about Derek choking on gas in a muddy trench somewhere in France, but he didn’t feel like that was fully necessary to mention. 

Derek took him in, still fiddling with the pendant on his neck. “I get that. Mine are the same. Getting blown up as I help people to medics, not getting a road built fast enough, so soldiers trapped in a trench starve to death. Hospitals burning down. Shit like that.” He failed to mention that the hospitals burning down usually had Will in them, but well, he didn’t have to go that in depth now. 

Will just watched him closely, timing his breaths with the other’s, watching his fiddling fingers, eyes widening when he finally caught a glimpse of what was hidden behind them. “Is that Saint Michael…? I didn’t realize that you’d still have it. Not like you’d throw it away or anything, but I figured it either got lost in the war or sent back to my sisters with the letter that you said you sent.” Derek looked down, thumbing at the pendant before he slowly removed the chain from around his neck, offering it back to Will. “I meant to send it back with my letter to your family. I just...There was something keeping me from sending it back, I don’t know. I just...I heard about your death from someone else and it just felt like I didn’t get to say goodbye. Which isn’t fair, your family wouldn’t have been able to either, and I took so long to even write…” He cut himself off before he said something he couldn’t take back and he just set his hands in his lap as he settled onto the end of the bed. 

Will looked at the pendant in his hands, warm from Derek’s skin, parts of the engraving rubbed thin, clearly well loved. His mother had fastened it around his neck the day before he went to get his orders, so technically, it was the last gift he had from his mother, but even so, taking it back from Derek didn’t feel quite right. He reached for Derek’s hands, pressing the pendant back into them, his cheeks a soft pink. “Keep it. It looks like it’s brought you the luck you’ve needed. And my sisters have been my lucky charms their whole lives, so I’m set.” Derek looked at the necklace in his hands, thumb running his usual path over the face of the pendant and he smiled a little. “Thank you, Will.” His voice was soft, and he yawned a little. “Come on, I think it’s time you freshened up. Sun’s coming up, and the last time we talked about coming to New York, I promised I’d show you around, didn’t I?” He raised an eyebrow, his smile bright as he tried to shake off the tension from Will’s dream and the tension he felt in his chest after Will had regifted him the pendant. “There’s a really good bakery we can run to before I show you Central Park. And before you say anything about how you’ve been coming here for years, I doubt you’ve actually seen it through the eyes of a true New Yorker, hm?” Will just laughed, shaking his head. “Go on then, get out. Let me get changed, and then we’ll head out. You’ve got all day with me.” Derek smiled and slipped off the bed, giving WIll the space he needed to change and freshen up. 

* * *

They made the run to the small, family owned bakery in Brooklyn, before heading over to Prospect Park. They walked at a distance, chatting casually, Derek talking animatedly about the history of his New York, about the place he grew up that he loved so much. It felt so different from any time he had hung out with Jack, or Byron or Larissa. Even though they were separated by several feet, he felt so close to the red head, warmth spreading through him every time he made Will laugh, every time he made Will smile. If this was all they got, the memory of it would sustain Derek for years to come, as pathetic as that may have sounded. All he could think about was getting home to write about that night. Poetry, songs, stories. He wanted to write down this night and never forget it, even though he had to hide it from the world. 

Will found himself enthralled with the city, finally seeing it through the eyes of someone who was from there. Derek waxed poetry about the city, and in the light of day, he could understand why. The parks were beautiful, the food was cheap and delicious, and the company? Well. No one and nothing could beat the company. Derek was bright and fun and his energy was almost infectious. Now, Will didn’t know Derek from before the war, but if he could go through that hell and come back like this, then everything he had ever thought about the man beforehand was true. He was good and sweet and bright, and he needed to be protected. He needed to be treasured. 

As the day wound down, and the sun started to set, Derek led Will to a small diner and he settled into the back booth, grinning as the cook in the back called out, “Our Poet Laureate’s regular and the house special for his...friend.” The brief pause made Derek nervous, but he was glad when he heard nothing but affirmatives from the back. “I came here a lot as a kid. Well, not a lot, but as often as I could afford to, and when I hit high school, they caught me writing and said that they’d trade poems for a meal a week. It’s not much but shit, I wasn’t gonna trade that offer up, ya know?” Will laughed, nodding, “You’d be an idiot to turn that kinda deal down. You ever gonna read me any of those poems?” There was something about being around Will that just made Derek’s face heat up, and whether he was willing to fully admit what it was or not, he could feel his cheeks burning. “How about this. You write me when you get back to Canada safe and sound, and I’ll send you a few of my better poems, maybe a short story if I’m feeling giving.” He managed a wink before he leaned back in the booth, grinning as two burgers were set in front of them. The waitress, Rhonda, smiled softly at Derek, glancing over at Will, her head tilted, just a little confused. “Last time you brought in a stray it was that quiet fella, Jack. Who’s this one?” Derek laughed a little, introducing them, “Rhonda, this is Will. We served together in the war. Sorta. Our paths crossed enough that it felt like it, anyway. Will, this is Rhonda, old family friend.” Will nodded his head, smiling a little. “Nice to meet you, ma’am, any embarrassing stories about Derek as a kid are greatly appreciated.” Derek balked and Rhonda laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh Derek, I like this one, he’s a sweetheart. Well, I’ll let you two eat, let me know if y’all need anything.” 

As she left their booth, Derek started to pick at his fries and Will frowned a little, thinking over the interaction. “So hold on a second. Did she say Jack? That Zimmermann kid right?” Derek’s eyes brightened and he nodded. “Yeah! Jack found me not too long ago, actually. Maybe four or five months. He’s doing some tour of the US looking for his sweetie and he’s…” Derek trailed off, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. “He’s friends with Shitty.” He smiled, eyes shining before he finally dug in and took a bite. “Come on, eat. I know you’ve gotta get to work soon, and then you’ve gotta make the long drive home. You’ve already lingered too long as is. So eat up, string bean.” Will laughed a little, pink high on his cheeks as he dug in and started to eat. The meal was good, relatively quiet, but in a comfortable way, warm, like they had known each other for years longer than they had. Rhonda came back around to check on them at the end of the meal, and Will got his wallet out to pay, but the older woman laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no sweetheart, not today. Derek doesn’t bring guests here often, and anyone who fought with our boy during the war kept him alive. So y’all get a free meal tonight.” Derek thanked her, his voice soft, but even as they left, Will left cash behind, deciding that the sweet woman deserved it. She hadn’t asked questions, hadn’t bothered them, and she seemed important to Derek, and that was important to him, though that feeling was troubling in its own right. He had a lot to think about when he got home, but for now, he’d focus on this final goodbye. 

* * *

Derek helped him look over the stock in his car when they got back to Byron’s house, and as Will locked up the trunk, he looked at the other man, swallowing thickly. “It’s good to see you again. Good...good to know that you’re here. Alive. That somehow, someway, our wires just got crossed.” he reached for him, hugging him tight and patting his back firmly. “Next time I’m in town, I’ll actually come early, weather permitting.” Derek laughed and hugged him back, chest tight. “Yeah yeah, as long as you’re driving safe and you don’t get caught. This is dangerous shit, Will.” His voice was soft and he sighed a little as they pulled back. “Write to me when you get home, yeah?” Will nodded, hugging him one last time before he dropped his delivery at Samwell. 

* * *

The drive back to Nova Scotia was both the fastest he’d ever driven, and the longest trip he’d ever taken. 

* * *

He got in late, and slept as soundly as he usually did, only tossing a little. He usually slept in a little after a job like this, but he had something on his mind, something that he had to talk to Sarah about. He was up with the sun, and had already had a cup of coffee by the time Sarah came over to help with their younger sisters. Will smiled at their two younger sisters and he ushered them out to the backyard before he wrapped his fingers around Sarah’s wrist gently, his voice soft. “You and I need to talk about something.” Sarah’s face went white and she nodded. “Is everything okay, Will? Are you safe? Are we…?” Will shook his head, “No, no it’s nothing like that. We’re safe, the operation is still safe and no one knows who shouldn’t know, okay? This is something a little more personal.” Her brow furrowed but she nodded and followed him into the study. Will shut the door behind him and he sighed as he sank into one of the chairs. 

“Sarah, did you ever receive a letter about me from a soldier? To inform you of my death?” Sarah went even paler, if that was possible, and she took a seat across from her brother, holding her head in her hands. “You looked like yourself that day, Will. For the first time since you had come home, you were smiling and laughing. And here was this letter, telling us you were dead? And the way it was written was…” she shook her head, sighing. “It was so _fond,_ Will. Like it was your best friend writing it, or…” She didn’t finish that thought, didn’t dare finish that thought, and thank God Will didn’t ask her to. But when he finally spoke, she sort of wished that he had. His voice was tight, strained. “You had no right to withhold that, Sarah Poindexter. You had no right to keep that letter from me. You ever think that the soldier writing it was a friend? Huh?” She winced. Of course she had thought about that, that was all she thought about, the tenderness in that letter went far beyond the way a friend would write about someone though, that she knew. If she were to write about Tony, it would sound almost like that letter. But instead of admitting the truth, she lied. She had to, to protect her brother from being implicated in something like that. And to protect the man she didn’t know, who would be in just as much trouble. “You know Milicent, down the road? When her brother died, the letter was just written by some officer. I thought it was the same sorta thing, Billy. I swear. It’s why I burned the letter. You were alive and well, and I didn’t feel like bringing up old wounds would make anything better.”

Will knew that Sarah was hiding something, not telling him about something, but at this point, there was no reason to continue pushing, continue fighting. He sighed, swallowing thickly as he looked at his little sister. “The man who wrote that letter? His name is Derek Nurse, and he was a good friend of mine. I taught him some of the songs that dad and I would sing on the boat. And until this last trip, Tony and I were under the impression that he was dead. So when you get home tonight, you can tell him that he’s alive. You don’t gotta tell him anything else you don’t want to, but Tony deserves to know.” Sarah just nodded, and stood as soon as Will did, reaching for him and hugging him tight. “I’m sorry, Billy. I didn’t know. I’m just...I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad that he is too. Tony’ll be thrilled.” Will hugged her back, sighing softly. “Yeah yeah. I’ll be back later, okay? That husband of yours wanted to try out a new recipe when I got home, so I’m on my way to pick him up.” Sarah just nodded, waving him off before focusing on the things she could control, praying silently that whatever else Will would get involved with, he’d be safe. 

* * *

Nursey, 

I got home safely, no issues. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever missed New York after a trip, but I think it’s because I got to see it through your eyes, helped give me a new appreciation for the place. I hope we can do it again sometime. As for the case of the missing letter, well, my sister got to it before I did. You sent your letter a little later than I sent mine, but that’s fair enough. Writing it was hard. Sending it felt harder. She threw it into the fire when she got it, which is why I never got a chance to read it. Apparently she thought an officer wrote it, but I call bullshit. There’s no way you write like an officer. You’re a poet. Anyway. I should be making another trip down to New York in a couple of months, and I hope that I can see you again. Maybe I can crash with you instead of that Shitty Hotel? It would be much appreciated. Stay safe, Nursey, and stay well. 

Your Friend, 

Dex

* * *

Dexy!

I’m glad you got home well, and I’m glad that my letter was actually received by someone, even if it did end up in the fire. I’m sure that it must’ve been shocking for her to receive it, so I’m not totally sure I can blame her for tossing it. Hey, I’m glad that my little tour of New York has made you miss it, the city misses you too, if you’d believe it. City’s can talk, and New York, well, New York talks a lot and I can hear it calling for you. So it’s good to hear you’ll be back soon. And yeah, two months is soon to me. To the city. Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay with me instead of at that Shitty place. You’re always welcome. I’ve decided to enclose a couple of poems for your reading pleasure, though neither of them are mine. I hope you enjoy them. And before you go saying you aren’t much into poetry, everyone likes poetry, Dex. You’ve just gotta find the stuff that speaks to you. So let me know if these speak. Be safe out there in the great, wide world. Stay well. I hope to visit you soon. Maybe next summer. 

  
Yours in Friendship,  
  
Nursey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank the incredible, the wonderful, [EleanorFenyx](https://eleanorfenyx.tumblr.com/) without them, this whole thing wouldn't exist. Seriously. And check out [my Tumblr](https://summerwaves-autumnskies.tumblr.com/) for literally nothing to do with this story at all lol. 
> 
> Another huge thank you to everyone who comments and leaves Kudos. Seriously. You guys are incredible and it really really helps. I appreciate all of you!
> 
> In all seriousness, I meant to write this update a minute ago, but I uhhhh caught Covid-19. I live in a state that is shitty and where a lot of people deny the effectiveness of masks. And even if I'm wearing a mask, if a sick person isn't, I can still get sick. And I did. It sucked, but I'm better now, and back at work, so I'm grateful for that. 
> 
> The next update is probably going to be letter heavy, so be prepared for that. 
> 
> Stay safe lovelies!


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